Love,  the  Tyrant 


Or,  Where  Her  Heart  Led 


BY  CHARLES  GARVICE 

AUTHOR  OF 

"With  All   Her   Heart,"   "Marcia   Drayton,"   "At  Love's 
Cost,"  "Just  a  Girl,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  ::  ::  ::          NEW  YORK 


Copyright  1900 
BYV  GEORGE  MUNRO'S  SONS 
LOVE,  THE  TYRANT 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 


CHAPTER   I. 

IN  the  intense  stillness  and  clearness  of  the  Australian 
night  there  was  something  weird  and  strangely  oppressive; 
and  a  young  man  who  stood  at  the  door  of  a  shepherd's  hut 
vaich  stood  in  a  small  clearing,  looked  round  and  shuddered 
slightly  as  if  the  solitude  might  be  peopled  by  ghosts. 

He  was  pale  and  thin,  with  that  red  look  about  the  eyes 
which  fever  paints  so  skilfully ;  and  as  he  leant  against  the 
door  he  listened  with  the  eagerness  afad  impatience  which  re- 
vealed themselves  in  the  twitch  of  his  thin,  parched  lips.  At 
his  feet  a  dog  lay  curled  up  as  if  asleep,  but  his  eyes  were 
open,  for,  like  the  man,  he  was  listening,  and  when  his  master 
said:  "Arthur's  late,  Bob,  isn't* he?"  the  dog  wagged  his 
tail  as  if  he  understood:  which  it's  even  money  he  did. 

The  young  man  went  in  presently  and  stirred  the  fire  under 
the  rough  kettle,  lit  the  tafluw  candle,  though  the  moon  was 
shining  brightly  through  the  window,  then  dropped,  rather 
than  threw  himself,  beside  tha  fire,  and  sighed  wearily.  Not- 
withstanding the  heat,  he  shivered  now  and  again  as  if  with 
cold,  and  once  he  wiped  the  chilly  dampness  from  his  fore- 
head with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat.  Half  an  hour  passed  and  he 
had  fallen  into  a  fitful  doze,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  a 
horse;  the  dog  heard  it,  to  j,  and  sprang  up  with  a  bark  of 
welcome. 

The  young  fellow  rose,  staggering  slightly,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  door.  As  he  did  so,  a  horseman  rode  into  the 
clearing,  dropped  from  the  saddle,  spoke  to  the  dog,  that 
leapt  caressingly  upon  him,  and  said,  cheeringly: 

"  Back  at  last,  old  man.     How  goes  it?" 

"Oh,  so  so,"  replied  the  other.  "I  thought  you  were 
never  coming — that  something  had  happened.  Look  sharp 
and  come  in,  Arthur." 

Arthur  Burtcn  nodded,  led  his  horse  round  to  a  shed  at 


2135S27 


6  ftJVE,  THE 

the  back  of  the  hut,  rubbed  the  animal  down  swiftly  tout  with 
the  loving  touch  of  a  man  who  loves  his  horse,  gave  it  a 
double  feed,  and  then  went  into  the  hut.  Jack  Gordon  was 
bending  over  the  fire,  but  he  rose  as  his  chum  entered,  and 
held  out  his  hand  with  a  smile  on  his  fevered  face.  Arthur 
took  the  thin,  hot  hand,  and  pressed  it;  and  as  they  stood, 
*he  contrast  between  them  was  marked  and  painful;  the  one 
was  so  gaunt  and  thin  and  wasted,  the  other  so  magnificent  a 
specimen  of  English  manhood.  He  stood  a  good  six  feet;  hia 
chest  was  broad,  his  limbs  finely  moulded,  and  as  hard  as 
iron  and  as  supple  as  steel;  there  was  not  an  ounce  of  fat 
upon  him;  it  was  all  sinew  and  muscle.  There  was  strength 
not  only  in  his  form  but  in  the  handsome  face,  tanned  by  sun 
and  rain;  in  the  dark  eyes,  shining  like  agates  in  the  fire- 
light, and  the  short  curls  of  the  chestnut  hair  that  grew  in 
waves  on  the  forehead  which  the  wide  hat  had  kept  white. 

"  You're  not  so  well  to-night,  Jack,"  he  said,  as  he  flung 
his  hat  in  a  corner  and  took  off  his  coat.  "  Why  don't  you 
lie  down  and  rest?  You  promised  me  you  would." 

Jack  laughed  rather  shamefacedly. 

"  I  tried  it,  but  it  wouldn't  wash.  For  the  first  time  in  my 
life  1  got  the  blues  being  alone,  and  was  as  full  of  fancies  as  a 
woman.  I  imagined  all  sorts  of  things  had  happened  to  you. 
Last  night  I  heard  footsteps  and  voices  in  the  gulch,  or  fan- 
cied I  did;  which  is  all  the  same,  for  it  kept  me  awake.  It's 
the  fever,  I  suppose." 

Arthur  Burton  nodded. 

"  Must  have  been,  for  I  saw  nothing  of  them,  though  I 
heard  at  the  store  that  a  gang  had  been  seen  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood; but  that  was  days  ago  and  they  must  have  passed 
on;  anyway,  it's  not  likely  they  will  happen  on  us;  we're  too 
far  off  the  track.  Now,  you  just  leave  that  kettle  alone  and 
lie  down.  I'll  get  the  tea;  I've  been  sitting  in  the  saddle  so 
long  that  I'm  hankering  for  domestic  duties.  1  got  some 
quinine  at  the  store,  and  you'll  have  a  dose  before  we  go  any 
farther." 

He  opened  the  little  white  packet  as  if  the  powder  were 
gold-dust — and,  indeed,  it  was  more  precious  than  gold-dust 
— and  himself  tilted  it  on  to  his  chum's  tongue. 

Jack  looked  up  at  the  strong,  handsome  face  with  a  wistful 
gratitude. 

"  Arthur,  old  man,"  he  said,  with  that  quaver  in  his  voice 
of  which  every  man  is  ashamed,  "  you've  been  a  true,  good 
chum  to  me.  Ever  since  we  met  there,  at  Wallv  Ford,  six 
mouths  ago,  you've  stood  by  me,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  like— 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  T 

Hkt  a  brother.  You've  stood  this  peevish  temper  of  mint 
md  all  my  tantrums,  and  never  offered  to  kick  me." 

"  Which  I  shall  promptly  do  now,  my  good  Jack,  if  you 
don't  shut  up." 

"  You've  shared  you  last  crust  with  me  like  the  coves  in  a 
novel,  and  now  you  ride  a  matter  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
to  get  me  quinine  and  pretend  you  went  because  you  were 
dying  to  see  a  newspaper — you  who  never  cared  for  it  when 
we  came  across  one." 

"  Well,  anyway,  I've  got  one,"  said  Arthur,  and  he  took  a 
newspaper  from  his  jacket  hanging  on  a  nail  and  chucked  it 
on  the  bed. 

"  But  I  don't  think  you'll  have  to  put  up  with  me  long, 
Arthur,"  said  Jack  Gordon,  in  the  calm  and  quiet  tone  of  the 
man  who  hears  the  soft  footsteps  of  Death  approaching  him. 
"  Laugh  at  me  if  you  like,  but  I've  a  notion  I'm  going  to 
peter  out  before  long." 

Arthur  winced  and  turned  his  head  away  that  the  sick  man 
might  not  see  the  spasms  of  grief  which  had  passed  over  hia 
face.  t 

"  Not  you,  old  man!"  he  said.  "  You're  worth  ten  dead 
men,  and  you  and  I  will  be  making  for  Melbourne  presently, 
for  that  spree  which  we've  been  looking  forward  to  so  longc 
What  you  really  want  is  a  darned  good  shaking,  and  I'd  give 
it  to  you  if  I  weren't  too  tired.  Here's  your  tea,  and  here's 
some  soft  tommy  I  got  at  the  stores;  though  it's  a  fulsome 
compliment  to  call  it  soft,  for  it's  as  hard  as  a  fossil;  but  you 
can  soak  it  in  the  tea,  and  it  will  be  a  change  anyway." 

"  Arthur,  you  ought  to  have  been  a  woman,"  said  Jack,  as 
he  took  the  cake.  "  You're  as  strong  as  a  lion,  and  as  hard 
as  nails,  but  you've  got  a  heart  as  soft  as  putty,  and  it  will 
land  you  in  trouble  some  day,  if  it  hasn't  done  so  already." 

Burton's  face  reddened  under  its  tan,  and  he  laughed  a  soft, 
curt  laugh. 

"  Yes,  some  woman  will  get  hold  of  that  heart  of  yours, 
Arthur,  and  wring  it — wring  it  hard  and  tight,  if  you  don't 
watch  it.  It's  always  chaps  like  you  who  fall  victims  to  what 
they  call  the  '  gentle  sex.'  But  I  have  no  reason  to  complain; 
that  heart  has  stood  me  in  good  stead.  How  does  it  go? 
4  The  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother;'  that's  the 
sort  you  are,  old  man,  and  it  was  a  lucky  wind  that  drifted 
me  across  your  path." 

"  That'll  do,*  said  Arthur;  "  you  talk  like  a  fellow  in  a 
novelette.  I've  done  precious  little  for  you,  not  half  what 


§  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

yon  would  have  done  for  me;  and  so  there's  au  end  of  fe 
l)ry  up  and  go  to  sleep." 

He  drew  a  blanket  over  the  shivering  form,  giving  it  a 
friendly  punch,  by  way  of  caress,  then  threw  himself  beside 
the  fire  again  and  lit  his  pipe;  but  suddenly  remembering  that 
the  smoke  sometimes  made  Jack  cough,  stealthily  extin- 
guished the  tobacco  with  his  finger  and  slipped  the  pipe  into 
his  pocket.  For  a  time  he  lay  with  his  head  upon  his  hand, 
gazing  sleepily  at  the  fire  and  listening  to  the  laboured  breath- 
ing of  his  chum.  Then  the  fire  got  low,  the  air  grew  chilly, 
and  Burton,  feeling  cold  after  his  ride,  rose  noiselessly  and 
put  on  his  ccat. 

As  he  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket  he  felt  the  sharp  edge 
of  a  letter,  and  with  an  upward  jerk  of  the  head,  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  the  thing,  he  took  the  letter  out  and  looked  at  it. 
The  envelope  was  unbroken  and  was  addressed  to  "  Mr. 
Arthur  Burton,  Wally  Ford." 

"  The  first  letter  I've  had  for  nearly  two  years,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  Wonder  who  it  can  be  from?  Somebody  found  ouh 
my  alias — some  dun,  I  expect:  looks  like  a  business  letter. 
What  else  should  it  be?  No  one  belonging  to  me  knows 
where  I  am  or  the  name  I  go  by.  Half  a  mind  to  pitch  it  in 
the  fire,  for  it's  sure  to  be  a  worry.  Better  open  it,  perhaps." 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  with  an  absolute  indiffer- 
ence and  absence  of  curiosity,  he  opened  the  envelope  and 
drew  out  the  letter.  It  was  written  on  the  fine  bank-note 
paper  used  by  first-class  lawyers  and  business  men;  it  bore  a 
neatly  engraved  heading — "  Floss  &  Floss,  Solicitors  " — and 
it  ran  thus: 

"  DEAR  SIR, — With  great  difficulty  we  have  succeeded  in 
tracing  you  as  far  as  Wall 7  Ford,  to  which  place  we  address 
this  letter  with  your  assumed  name.  We  have  to  inform  you 
of  the  death  of  your  uncle.  Sir  Richard  Vancourt,  which  oc- 
curred, on  November  the  ninth  last.  You  have  succeeded  to 
the  baronetcy  in  natural  course.  By  a  will,  executed  on  his 
death-bed,  your  uncle  bequeathed  you  the  estates  and  his 
whole  fortune.  In  the  event  of  your  death,  everything  goes 
to  a  distant  relation  of  Sir  Richard's — a  young  lady  named 
Esther  Vancourt.  We  beg  most  earnestly  that  you  will, 
immediately  on  receipt  of  this  letter,  return  to  England,  and 
we  anxiously  await  a  telegram  from  you,  as  all  attempts  to 
trace  you  from  Wally  Ford  have  failed.  Your  affairs  most 
Urgently  need  your  presence  here.  We  have  the  honour  to 
te,  dear  sir,  Your  obedient  servants,  FLOSS  &  FLOSS.  " 


LOVE,  THE  TYI?  A1?T.  9 

Bnrton  stared  at  the  letter  without  moving  a  muscle;  his 
"head  felt  hot,  his  face  grew  red  and  white  by  turns.  It  was 
hard  to  believe,  even  with  the  crisp  paper  between  his  fingers, 
the  legible  writing  before  his  eyes.  His  uncle  was  dead;  he 
was  Sir  John  Vancourt,  a  baronet  of  the  United  Kingdom, 
the  owner  of  the  vast  fortune  which  his  uncle  had  built  up 
hundred  by  hundred,  thousand  by  thousand. 

He  could  scarcely  remember  the  old  man,  who  had  hated 
him  as  a  boy,  had  never  given  a  thought  to  either  the  title  or 
the  money.  And  now  they  were  both  his! 

He  was  no  longer  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
literally  earning  his  bread  by  the  sweat  «f  his  brow,  carrying 
his  life  in  his  hand,  and  heedless  whether  he  dropped  it  by  the 
way  or  not,  but  a  man  of  rank,  with  a  place  and  position 
waiting  for  him  in  dear  old  England,  that  little  island  which 
you  only  begin  to  love  when  you  are  exiled  from  it.  He  was 
the  owner  of  Vanjourt  Towers — he  had  only  the  dimmest 
recollection  of  it;  of  a  rambling,  Norman-looking  place,  with 
a  couple  of  half-ruined  towers  and  a  dry  moat  in  which  the 
grass  was  always  green  and  where  the  sunlight  rarely  played. 
He  knew  that  the  house  was  magnificent,  that  two  genera- 
tions of  Vancourts  had  spent  inauy  thousands  upon  it,  but  the 
chief  point  of  his  remembrance  were  the  old  towers  and  the 
moat,  the  peacocks  on  the  terrace,  and  the  swans  on  the  lake 
in  the  park. 

And  it  was  all  his!  Hard  to  realise,  as  he  lay  there  in  the 
Australian  wilds,  in  the  rough  hut,  with  the  barest  necessaries 
of  life,  with  a  few  shillings  in  his  pocket,  and  his  wardrobe 
consisting  of  the  riding-suit  he  wore.  He  scarcely  knew 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry;  it  had  come  so  suddenly.  And 
yet  he  ought  to  be  glad,  very  glad,  for  he  had  had  a  devil  of 
a  hard  time  of  it.  Cattle-running,  sheep- washing,  gold-dig- 
ging, read  very  prettily  and  poetically  in  novels,  but  they  are 
hard,  cruelly  hard  work,  as  many  a  young  Englishman  knows 
to  his  cost;  and  Arthur  Burton  had  faced  perils  and  priva- 
tions which  would  have  bowled  him  over  long  ago  but  for  his 
great  strength  and  the  Vancourt  constitution,  which  had 
enabled  his  race  to  go  the  pace  in  all  kinds  of  ways  with  im- 
punity. 

Yes,  he  would  go  at  once  and  take  up  his  title  and  inherit* 
ance.  Then  he  remembered  his  sick  chum  lying  on  the  bed. 
No;  he  couldn't  go  at  once.  He  wouldn't  leave  Jack  if  the 
throne  of  England  were  waiting  for  him;  he  would  wait  until 
his  chum  was  better,  and  strong  enough  to  travel,  and  he 
would  take  Jack  to  Vancourt  Towers,  and  they  would  have 


10  LOVE,  THE 

the  highest  of  high  times  together,  just  as  they  had  had  thft 
roughest  of  the  rough.  He  wouldn't  desert  his  friead: 
Jack  wasn't  going  to  die;  that  was  all  nonsense;  men  always 
got  down  on  their  luck  when  the  fever  was  in  them.  He 
wouldn't  say  anything  about  the  change  in  his  fortunes  until 
Jack  was  better,  and  then  they'd  be  ofi  to  dear  old  England, 
side  by  side,  comrades  still. 

The  sick  man  moved  and  moaned  uneasily,  and  Arthur 
rose  and  went  to  him. 

"  Had  a  nice  old  snooze,  old  man?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack.  "  First  rate,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
dreams.  I  thought  I  was  a  boy  again,  playing  with  my  sister. 
I  never  told  you  about  her,  Arthur — I've  never  told  you  any- 
thing about  myself.  It  isn't  a  pleasant  story."  His  white 
face  flushed  and  his  eyes  fell.  "  Somehow,  to-night  I  feel  I 
should  like  to.  I  mightn't  have  another  chance." 

"  Don't  worry  about  it  unless  you  like,  old  man,"  said 
Arthur.  "  We  all  have  our  little  stories.  Why  the  devil 
should  we  be  here  in  this  God-forsaken  place  if  we  hadn't?" 

"  My  father  was  a  parson,"  said  Jack  in  a  low  voice,  and 
turning  his  head  away  on  the  rough  pillow.  "  He  died  and 
left  my  sister — she  is  younger  than  I  am — to  my  care.  There 
wasn't  much  money,  and  I — I  spent  it.  I  got  up  to  Lon- 
don—  You  can  guess  the  rest.  When  the  smash  came  I 
bolted,  and  left  her  in  the  charge  of  a  maiden  aunt,  a  good 
sort  of  woman,  who,  thank  God,  will  have  taken  care  of  her. 
They  think  me  dead,  for  I  was  reported  killed  in  the  Branch 
Valley  affair;  and  I  didn't  contradict  the  report,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  better  just  then  that  I  should  be  dead  than  alive.  I 
disgraced  them  and  myself,  and  betrayed  the  trust  my  father 
had_left  me.  Nice  kind  of  brother!  Poor  little  girl!  I  hope 
she -Is  happy!  I'm  sure  she  has  forgiven  me.  Arthur,  if 
anything  should  happen  to  me,  when  you  go  back  to  the  old 
country  I  want  you  to  look  my  sister  up  and  tell  her  what 
chums  we  were,  and  what  a  friend  you've  been  to  me.  I 
want  you  to  give  an  eye  to  her  and  see  that  she's  all  right. 
Observe  my  colossal  selfishness:  I'm  not  satisfied  with  all 
you've  done  for  me,  but  I  must  worry  you  about  my  sister! 
feut  I  know  you'd  do  it,  old  man.  You're  the  strong  kind  of 
chap  that  weak  men  like  myself  always  prey  upon.  You'll 
do  it,  Arthur?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Arthur. 

His  eyes  closed  as  if  the  talk  had  tired  him,  and  he  slept 
for  a  few  minutes;  then  woke  with  a  shudder  and  complained 
of  the  cold.  Arthur  took  off.  his  coat  and  insisted  upon  pot* 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  11 

ting  it  on  his  sick  chum — Jack's  was  a  much  thinner  one  and 
in  rags — and  Jack  got  up  and  lay  beside  the  fire,  which 
Arthur  stirred  into  a  blaze.  He  made  a  cushion  of  the  other 
coat,  but  Jack  was  restless  and  could  not  lie  still. 

"  Do  you  think  I  only  fancied  that  I  heard  voices  in  the 
valley,  Arthur?"  he  asked.  "  If  1  hadn't  had  the  fever  on 
me  I  could  have  sworn  there  were  men  down  there." 

"Only  your  fancy,  I  think,  old  man;  at  any  rate,  they 
wouldn't  be  rangers,  for  the  police  are  in  the  neighbourhood 
and  the  scoundrels  would  have  cleared  out." 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Where's  that  paper  you  bought?"  he  asked,  presently. 

Arthur  took  it  from  the  bed,  and,  unfolding  it,  handed  it, 
and  while  Jack  was  reading  it,  made  some  more  tea.  Sud- 
denly an  exclamation  from  Jack  caused  him  to  look  round. 

Jack  had  sprung  to  his  feet  and  was  staring  at  the  paper, 
which  he  was  clutching  with  shaking  hands.  His  face  was 
crimson,  his  lips  trembling,  and  Arthur  thinking  that  he  was 
geized  with  the  delirium  of  the  fever,  went  to  him  quickly  and 
put  an  arm  round  him, 

"  What's  the  matter,  old  man;  feeling  bad?" 

"  Bad!  I  must  be  going  mad.  Feel  my  pulse,  Arthur!" 
He  thrust  one  hand  out.  "  Is  it  fever;  am  I  off  my  head? 
Tell  me — tell  me  quick,  for  God's  sake!" 

"  You're  all  right,"  said  Arthur,  soothingly.  "  Keep  your 
hair  on,  old  chap.  What  ails  you?" 

Jack  struck  the  paper  with  his  shaking  finger. 

"  Here's  something  about  my  sister,  Arthur;  the  girl  I've 
just  been  telling  you  about!  it's  like  a  dream,  a  miracle. 
Here's  her  name,  plain  enough;  and  a  story  about  her  that's 
too  wonderful  to  be  true!  It  says — here!  you  read  it  your- 
self, for  I  can't  see  the  words,  there's  a  mist  before  my  eyes. 
Read  it  out  loud,  and,  for  God's  sake,  be  quick  or  I  shall  go 
mad!  There  it  is;  there — there!" 

He  thrust  the  paper  into  Arthur's  hands  and  pointed  to  the 
paragraph,  and  Arthur  read  it  aloud: 

"  *  Berkshire  has  sustained  a  severe  loss  in  the  death  of  Sir 
Richard  Vancourt  of  Vancourt  Towers.  He  was  pre-eminent 
as  a  landlord  and  a  magistrate,  and  will  ever  be  remembered 
by  the  poor  as  their  benefactor  and  friend.  The  baronetcy 
descends  to  Mr.  John  Vancourt,  and  to  this  nephew  the  late 
Sir  Richard  has  left  his  immense  fortune;  but,  as  is  well 
known,  the  young  man  left  England  for  Australia  some  years 
ago,  and  ia  supposed  to  have  died  there.  If  this  should],  un- 


12  LOVE,  THE  TYBAUT. 

fortunately,  be  the  case,  all  Sir  Richard's  wealth  goes  to  a 
distant  relation,  a  young  lady  named  Esther  Vancourt.  Dili- 
gent enquiries  after  Sir  John,  the  present  baronet,  having 
proved  futile,  Miss  Esther  Vancourt  is,  so  to  speak,  in  pos- 
session of  the  property.  While  deploring  the  death  of  the 
young  baronet— if  dead  he  be — we  offer  our  respectful  con- 
gratulations to  the  young  lady  who  is  presumptive  mistress  of 
Vancourt  Towers.' ' 

Arthur  neither  started  noa  uttered  a  word,  but  just  looked 
straight  before  him  with  eyes  that  saw  the  printed  lines  on  the 
opposite  wall.  This  chum  of  his,  then,  was  a  sort  of  cousin, 
the  little  sister  Jack  had  consigned  to  Arthur's  care  was  the 
girl  who  would  have  inherited  Sir  Richard's  money  if  he, 
Arthur,  had  not  been  alive!  For  a  moment  he  wished  that 
he  was  dead.  A  cry  from  Jack  roused  him  from  his  stupor. 
The  sick  man  was  sitting  on  the  bed,  clutching  at  the  edge  of 
it  as  if  for  support.  An  expression  of  amazement,  of  joy, 
was  on  his  face;  he  was  trembling  violently. 

"  It's  true,  Arthur;  you  read  it  yourself,  and  you're  sane 
enough!  My  little  Esther!  God  bless  her!  Rich!  Oh, 
Arthur,  old  man,  if  you  knew  how  hard  and  bitter  a  time  she 
must  have  had!  She  must  have  had  to  work  for  her  living, 
must  have  had  to  suffer  and  put  up  with  all  sorts  of  slights 
and  hardships.  You  know  what  a  girl  has  to  endure  in  Eng- 
land when  she  is  poor  and  friendless.  The  thought  of  it  has 
kept  me  awake  many  and  manv  a  night,  and  made  life  a  hell 
for  me.  And  now  she's  rich!  You  think  it's  true,  don't 
you;  the  fellow  isn't  lying?"  he  broke  off,  eagerly. 

"  No,  no;  it's  all  right,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  calmness 
which  surprised  himself.  "  So  your  name  is  Vancourt?" 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  weakness  setting  in  after  the  ex- 
citement. "  It's  a  good  old  name.  The  Sir  Richard  that 
died  and  left  his  money  to  Esther  was  a  kind  of  cousin  of 
mine.  I  never  saw  him  or  any  of  his  people;  we  were  too 
poor  and  proud  to  claim  his  acquaintance,  and  I  don't  know 
now  he  came  to  remember  Esther's  existence.  But  I'm  grate- 
ful to  him,  for  he's  mads  it  easy  for  me  to  hand  in  my 
checks.  I  shall  die  as  happy  as  a  bird,  now  that  I  know  my 
little  girl  is  safe;  for  to  be  rich  in  England  is  to  be  sate. 
Arthur,"  he  added,  with  a  hoarse  laugh. 

Arthur  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  gravely: 

"  But  the  nephew,  the  present  baronet,  may  be  alire,  old 
man*" 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAJHGi  13 

Jack  started  and  looked  at  him  almost  angrily. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  excitedly.  "  Of 
course  he's  dead!  Doesn't  the  paper  say  so?  Wouldn't  he 
have  heard  of  his  luck  and  gone  hounding  over  to  England  to 
claim  the  money  and  title  long  ago?  I'm  certain  he's  dead!" 
He  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow.  "  Oh,  it  would  be  too 
cruel  to  have  him  turn  up  and  rob  Esther.  She's  a  girl,  and 
alone  in  the  world — for  lam  dying  and  shall  never  go  back 
to  her — and  she  wants  the  money.  It's  her  due,  it's  been  left 
to  her — it  would  be  cruel,  cruel!  What  do  you  mean  by  say- 
ing he's  alive?" 

"  Don't  excite  yourself,"  said  Arthur,  soothingly.  "  I 
only  said  he  might  be:  I  daresay  he's  as  dead  as  a  herring, 
and  for  your  sake  and  your  sister's,  old  man,  I  hope  he  is. 
But  don't  you  talk  about  dying;  this  good  news  is  just  what 
you  wanted  to  shake  you  up.  You  lie  down  again;  and, 
whatever  you  do,  keep  your  hair  on." 

He  gently  forced  Jack  on  to  the  bed  and  covered  him  up 
with  a  rug. 

"  Give  me  the  paper,"  said  the  sick  man,  brokenly;  and 
he  clutched  it  and  tried  to  read  the  paragraph,  repeating  lines 
here  and  there  and  murmuring  every  now  and  then: 

"Esther!  Little  Esther— rich!  Oh,  thank  God!  God 
bless  my  little  Esther!" 

Arthur  went  and  stood  in  front  of  the  fire,  his  hands  thrust 
in  his  breeches  pockets,  his  head  bent,  his  handsome  face 
grave  and  troubled.  How  could  he  tell  his  chum  that  Sir 
John  Vancourt  was  alive,  that  he  was  the  missing  baronet, 
and  that  he  was  going  to  deprive  the  little  sister  of  her 
wealth?  He  couldn't. 

The  sick  man's  muttering  ceased,  an  intense  silence  fell 
upon  the  hut,  broken  only  by  the  breathing  of  Bob,  who  had 
been  rushing  around,  sharing  in  the  excitement,  but  had  now 
coiled  himself  up  beside  the  fire,  close  to  his  master's  feet. 

Suddenly  the  dog  raised  his  head  and  emitted  a  low  growl. 
Arthur  started  from  his  reverie  and  listened,  and  his  ears, 
almost  as  sharp  as  Bob's,  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  outside 
the  door.  He  sprang  on  tiptoe  to  the  bed:  Jack  was  sleeping 
heavily,  the  sleep  of  exhaustion.  Arthur  caught  up  his  rifle, 
felt  the  revolver  in  his  belt,  and  stood  in  front  of  the  heavily 
bolted  door,  waiting. 

Presently  the  dog  gave  a  loud  bark.  Jack  sat  up  in  bed, 
and  a  voice  outside  called  out: 

"  Hallo,  in  there!" 

"  HaUol"  responded  Arthur.    "  Witt's  tfaoaP* 


14  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  A  traveller — let  me  in,  mate!"  came  the  voice. 

Arthur  drew  his  revolver  and  slowly  unbolted  the  door.  A 
man  wearing  a  mask  sprang  in  with  pointed  revolver. 

"  Hands  up!"  he  cried.     "  We  don't  want  no  bloodshed!" 

Arthur  fired  promptly;  but  prompt  as  he  had  been,  the 
bushranger  had  ducked  and  the  bullet  passed  over  his  head. 
The  next  moment  three  other  men  flung  themselves  upon 
Arthur;  he  fired  twice  before  the  revolver  was  knocked  out  of 
his  hand,  and  he  struggled  and  fought  like — an  Englishman; 
but  it  was  four  against  one,  and  he  was  at  last  forced  against 
the  wall^  his  arms  bound  behind  his  back  and  his  feet  securely 
tied. 

Jack  had  sprung  from  the  bed,  but  before  he  could  seize 
his  revolver,  he  was  struck  backwards  by  a  blow  from  the 
butt  end  of  a  rifle  and  lay  panting  and  helpless. 

"  Now,  bail  up!"  said  the  man  who  had  first  entered. 
"  Where  do  you  keep  the  stuff?  We  know  you've  got  some; 
own  up,  or  we'll  shoot  you  like  a  dog." 

Arthur  smiled. 

"  Shoot  away!"  he  said. 

The  bushranger  lifted  his  revolver,  but  one  of  his  compan- 
ions stopped  him. 

"  Hold  hard;  give  him  time.  He  looks  a  sensible  sort  of 
chap.  Come  now,  mate!"  addressing  Arthur.  "  Just  tell 
us  where  the  swag  is,  and  give  us  a  drink,  and  we're  off  as 
peaceable  as  lambs." 

"  Go  or  stay,  it's  all  one  to  me,"  said  Arthur.  "  I  don't 
help  you  to  a  penny." 

The  leader  of  the  gang  swore  a  terrible  oath. 

"  Let  me  finish  him!"  he  cried.  "  We  can  search  for  the 
stuff  afterwards." 

Arthur  looked  towards  the  panting  figure  lying  across  the 
bed. 

"  Stop!"  he  said.  "  My  chum  there  is  in  a  bad  way; 
you've  knocked  him  senseless;  it  may  kill  him;  give  him  a 
drink  of  water  and  pull  him  round." 

One  of  the  men  picked  up  a  pan  of  water  and  was  advanc- 
ing to  the  bed,  but  the  ringleader  stopped  him. 

"  Hold  on  there!"  he  said.  Then  he  smiled  sardonically  at 
Arthur.  "  Look  here,  mate;  tell  us  where  the  stuff  is  and 

we'll  help  your  chum:  play  the  d d  obstinate  mule,  and 

I'llput  a  bullet  in  him  before  your  eyes." 

He  pointed  his  revolver  significantly  at  Jack. 

Arthur  went  white  to  the  very  lips,  and  his  dark  eyes  burnt 


"LOVE,  THE  TYRAUT.  15 

like  two  spots  of  fire;  then  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  with 
perfect  calm: 

"  Don't  lire.  You'll  find  the  little  we  possess  in  a  canvas 
bag,  under  that  barrel  of  mealies." 

Two  of  the  men  sprang  to  the  spot  indicated  and  dug  up 
the  bag  with  their  knives,  the  third — the  man  with  the  pan- 
nikin in  his  hands — went  to  Jack,  and  poured  some  water 
down  his  throat  and  over  his  head.  The  ringleader  still  stood 
in  front  of  Arthur,  eyeing  him  vindictively;  for  the  scorn  on 
Arthur's  white  face  cut  like  a  lash.  The  two  men  with  the 
bag  came  forward. 

"  Better  be  off  now,"  said  one;  "  there's  nothing  more,  I 
reckon." 

"  Search  their  pockets,"  said  the  ringleader.  "  Here,  1*11 
go  over  this  man's." 

He  went  up  to  Arthur  to  search  him;  but  Arthur  had 
managed,  with  extreme  difficulty  and  indescribable  pain,  to 
release  one  arm,  and  he  struck  the  ranger  a  blow  which  sent 
him  reeling  across  the  hut  and  tore  the  mask  from  his  face. 

With  a  cry  of  rage  and  an  oath,  the  ranger  snatched  UD  the 
revolver,  which  had  fallen  from  his  hand,  and  levelled  it  at 
Arthur. 

"  Don't  shoot — it's  safer!"  cried  one  of  his  companions. 

"  Not  shoot!  Why  not?  He's  struck  me — he's  seen  my 
face — will  know  me!  I'd  shoot  him  if  a  thousand  devils  stood 
in  the  way!" 

He  hissed  the  words  rather  than  spoke  them,  and  his  face 
—a  handsome  but  sinister  one — was  white  as  marble,  except- 
ing where  Arthur's  fist  had  struck  it.  He  levelled  his  re- 
volver and  took  careful  aim  at  Arthur's  heart;  but  as  the 
lookers-on  stood  in  breathless  suspense,  a  figure  rose  from  the 
bed,  staggered  across  the  hut  and  flung  itself  across  Arthur's 
breast. 

The  sharp  report  rang  out,  the  wreath  of  smoke  curled  up 
from  the  revolver,  and  with  a  cry  Jack  fell  dead  at  his  chum's 
feet. 

Hardened  as  they  were,  a  murmur  of  horror  rose  from  the 
Other  rangers. 

"  Curse  it  all,  you've  shot  the  wrong  man!"  said  one. 

"  It  was  his  own  fault,  the  fool!"  snarled  the  ringleader. 
"  But  there's  time  to  shoot  the  right  one." 

Two  of  the  gang  sprang  at  him  and  caught  him  by  the 
arm,  and  there  was  a  struggle.  In  the  midst  of  it,  while 
Arthur,  forgetting  his  own  impending  fate,  bent  down  over 


16  LOVE,  THE  TYRAITT. 

his  dead  chum,  a  whistle  sounded,  and  one  of  tne  gang,  wh* 
had  been  left  outside  as  sentinel,  rushed  in. 

"  The  police!"  he  said.  "  They're  coming  up  the  gulch! 
What  the  devil's  on?  Looks  like  murder!  Come  on!" 

The  men  rushed  out,  and  the  dead  clrarn  and  the  living  one 
were  left  alone. 

The  dog,  that  had  been  kicked  almost  senseless  into  a 
corner,  crawled  across  the  floor,  and,  whining,  licked  the 
dead  man's  face;  and  tears  dropped  from  Arthur's  eyes  on  to 
the  dog's  shaggy  coat. 

His  friend  was  dead,  had  given  his  life  for  him,  laid  it 
down  willingly,  cheerfully.  Had  died  in  the  fond  belief  that 
the  sister  he  loved  was  rich  and  safe  and  provided  for.  And 
he,  Arthur,  the  man  poor  Jack  had  died  for,  was  going  home 
to  deprive  the  girl  of  her  money.  Oh,  was  he? 

The  minutes  passed.  Bob  lay  with  his  paws  and  head  over 
the  prostrate  figure,  whining  intermittingly.  Arthur  crouched 
with  his  hand  upon  his  dead  chum's  head.  Presently  there 
came  the  sound  of  horsemen;  voices  called,  a  word  of  com- 
mand rang  out;  the  door  was  opened,  and  a  police  officer, 
followed  by  some  of  his  men,  entered  the  hut.  He  ran  to 
Arthur  and.  cut  his  bonds,  and  Arthur  staggered  on  to  his 
knees  beside  Jack. 

The  sergeant  examined  the  body,  shook  his  head,  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  Arthur's  shoulder. 

"  Your  chum?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  He's  quite 
dead." 

Arthur  rose,  tried  to  speak,  then  staggered  back  against 
the  wall  and  slid  down  to  the  floor  fainting  from  the  wound 
which  until  now  he  had  been  unconscious  of. 

When  he  came  to  and  was  helped  to  his  feet,  Jack's  body 
was  lying  on  the  bed,  decently  covered,  and  the  sergeant  was 
standing  beside  it  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  We  did  not  know  how  long  it  might  be  before  you  came 
to,"  he  said,  *'  and  so  we  searched  your  friend  for  means  of 
identification.  We  found  this  letter — an  important  one — in 
his  jacket  pocket.  It  appears  by  this  that  his  real  name  is 
Sir  John  Vancourt,  and  that  he  is  the  heir  to  a  large  pro]> 
erty  in  England.  Poor  fellow!  Is  that  so?  Is  that  his 
name?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

His  voice  was  hoarse  with  weakness  and  anguish,  but  it  was 
so  clear  and  distinct  that  every  one  heard  it. 

"  And  what  is  yours?"  asked  the  servant. 


WJVE,   THE  TYRANT.  17 

"  Jack  Goraon,"  replied  Arthur,  as  promptly,  as  calmly, 
£3  before. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  WHAT  you  have  always  to  remember,  my  dear  Esther,  is 
that  you  are  a  Vancourt." 

It  was  seven  months  later,  and  the  lady  who  thus  adjured 
Esther  Vancourt  was  the  Miss  Worcester,  the  maiden  aunt, 
with  whom  Esther  had  lived  since  childhood. 

The  two  ladies  were  on  the  small  terrace  in  front  of  the 
west  wing  of  the  Towers,  and  they  were  waiting  for  the  pony- 
carriage,  in  which  they  were  going  for  a  drive.  It  was  a 
lovely  evening  in  spring — strange  to  say,  considering  that  an 
English  spring  has  now  become  rather  more  hateful  than 
winter — and  so  warm  that  Esther  wore  no  cloak  over  the 
white  dress  with  the  black  sash,  which  was  its  only  ornament. 

Miss  Worcester  was  a  charming  old  lady  with  silvery  hair 
and  blue  eyes,  which  had  always  been  placid,  but  had  lately, 
since  Esther's  "  change  of  circumstances,"  endeavoured  to 
assume,  wkh  more  or  less  success,  an  expression  of  dignity. 
At  this  moment  she  was  sitting  bolt  upright  on  one  of  the 
stone  seats  built  into  a  recess  of  the  old  red  wall,  and  regard- 
ing the  owner  of  the  historic  name  with  something  like  an 
appeal  and  reproach;  for  tha,t  young  lady  had  not  seated  her- 
self in  stately  dignity  beside  her  aunt,  but  had  perched  herself 
on  the  stone  balustrade  of  the  terrace,  and  was  swinging  a 
pair  of  very  small  and  very  daintily  brown-clad  feet — "  just 
like  a  school-boy,"  Miss  Worcester  thought. 

The  girl  made  a  picture  which,  though  it  shocked  her 
aunt's  sense  of  propriety,  would  have  set  an  artist  or  a  poet 
thrilling;  for,  whatever  else  she  might  be,  she  certainly  was 
ravishingly  and  dangerously  pretty,  with  a  prettiness  which 
later  on  would  develop  into  actual  loveliness;  for — let  it  be 
whispered  with  bated  breath — few  women  come  to  loveliness 
at  twenty-one. 

She  was  dark,  with  a  wealth  of  hair  which  caused  her,  by 
its  vagaries,  considerable  trouble  to  keep  within  its  coil ;  with 
dark  and  rather  thick  brows,  and  that  clear  and  colourless 
complexion  which  goes  sometimes  with  perfect  health.  Her 
eyes  were  grey,  light  sometimes,  dark  or  violet  at  others,  just 
as  her  mood  coloured  them;  and  her  mouth  was  shapely  but 
by  no  means  small.  Both  mouth  and  eyes  were  expressive, 
too  expressive  sometimes;  for  like  most  women  who  have  gone 
through  the  mill  of  poverty — which  grindeth  so  exceeding 


18  LOVE,   THE  TYRASTi 

small — there  was  a  touch  of  pride  and  meiancftoly  in  hef 
character  which  sometimes  made  her  haughty  and  sometimes 
sad.  But  as  a  rule  she  was  high  in  spirits; indeed,  her  aunt 
had  more  than  once  called  her  a  tomboy:  but  that  was  before 
Esther  had  come  into  the  Vancourt  property.  She  was  very 
nearly  tall,  and  thin — for  at  twenty-one  a  girl  has  not  quite 
ceased  growing — but  not  with  the  thinness  which  is  painful  to 
the  beholder,  but  with  that  slender  suppleness  which  should 
belong  to  a  girl  as  her  birthright. 

She  was  looking  now  rather  dreamily  across  the  drive  and 
towards  the  setting  sun,  but  she  heard  her  aunt's  admonition 
and  laughed. 

"  Somehow,  I  don't  think  I'm  likely  to  forget  it,  aunt, 
dear,"  she  said. 

"  You  mean  that  I  remind  you  of  it  too  frequently,  my 
dear.  Perhaps  I  do,  but  you  must  remember  that  I  have  a 
duty  to  perform — my  dear  Esther,  I  am  perfectly  certain  you 
will  lose  your  balance  and  fall  over  that  parapet." 

"  No  danger,  I  assure  you,  dear.  If  I  felt  myself  going,  I 
should  cling  to  the  pillar  with  my  toes — like  this — see?"  re- 
sponded Esther,  cheerfully,  and  she  crooked  her  foot  round 
the  pillar. 

"  All  the  same,  my  dear  Esther,  one  must  consider  appear* 
ances.  If  the  butler  or  one  of  the  footmen  were  to  see  you, 
for  instance." 

"  He'd  be  shocked,  I  suppose,"  said  Esther.  "  And  yet, 
would  they?  I  have  shocked  them  so  often  since  I  came  that 
they  must  be  used  to  it." 

"  1  am  almost  afraid  they  are,"  assented  Miss  Worcester, 
with  a  sigh.  "  Yesterday,  Palmer  had  to  go  to  the  sideboard 
to  conceal  his  laughter  over  that  story  of  yours  about  the 
bishop  and  the  miner,  and  the  footman  nearly  choked  and 
was  compelled  to  retire  from  the  room." 

"  Did  he  really?"  said  Esther,  with  an  air  of  surprise  and 
satisfaction.  "  Palmer  has  risen  in  my  estimation;  I  was  under 
the  evidently  erroneous  impression  that  he  was  carved  out  of 
8  chunk  of  wood." 

"  Piece  of  wood,  my  dear  Esther;  though  the  description 
in  any  form  is  scarcely  a  suitable  one  to  apply  to  so  highly 
respectable  a  servant  as — " 

*'  Here's  the  pony-cart,  aunt,"  said  Esther,  dropping  like 
a  falling  blossom  from  her  perch.  "  What  a  j'olly  little  beast 
ft  is!  It  looks  like  a  door-mat  on  four  legs!"' 

"  Y-es,"  assented  Miss  Worcester,  doubtfully,  for  it  was 


WVE,  THE  TYRANT.  19 

her  irst  introduction  to  the  pony  in  question.  "  Are  you 
sure  it  is  quite  safe,  my  dear?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Esther,  cheerfully.  "  If  it  shows  any  incli- 
nation to  fall  down  we  just  lean  back  in  the  cart  and  the 
shafts  will  hold  it  up." 

"  I  meant  was  it  likely  to  run  away?" 

"  Oh,  no,  aunt.  It  is  thirty  years  old,  I  believe — isn't  it, 
Giles?" 

The  well-trained  groom,  standing  bolt  upright  at  the 
shaggy  little  morsel's  nead,  touched  his  hat. 

"  Twenty,  miss." 

"  Only  twenty?  I'm  disappointed.  Get  in,  aunt,"  as  she 
took  the  reins.  "  We'll  have  a  nice  long  drive,  and  if  the 
pony  gets  tired  we'll  put  it  inside  the  cart,  and  you  and  I  will 
drag  it  in  turns." 

The  groom  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile,  and  the  modest 
equipage — "  a  biscuit-box  on  two  wheels,"  Esther  called  it — 
jogged  down  the  avenue. 

"  I'm  surprised  you  like  this  better  than  the  landau  or  the 
victoria,  Esther,"  Miss  Worcester  remarked,  her  words  being 
Jerked  out  by  the  motion  of  the  cart. 

Esther  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Between  you  and  me,  aunt,  I  loathe  the  landau;  and  any- 
way, I  had  enough  of  it  yesterday  to  last  me  for  a  long  time. 
Oh,  shall  I  ever  forget  the  miles  we  rolled  along  behind  those 
fat  horses,  and  how  glad  I  was  when  we  came  to  a  house  we 
had  to  visit — almost  as  glad  as  I  was  to  get  out  of  the  house 
again."  )» 

"  And  yet  I  am  spire  every  one  was  most  kind." 

"  They  were.  I'm  not  denying  it;  but  behind  their  kind- 
ness, what  curiosity!  What  glances  they  cast  at  my  hat  and 
dress  and  hands — I  suppose  they  expected  to  see  a  kind  of 
superior  servant,  or  a  seamstress  with  the  marks  of  the  needle 
on  her  hands — I  don't  suppose  many  of  them  know  I  got  my 
living  by  teaching  music,  do  they? — and  how  they  listened  to 
detect  the  vulgar  accent  which  might  betray  the  *  poor  girl 
who'd  come  into  the  Vancourt  property.'  But  it's  not  nice 
of  me  to  criticise  them,  though  they  criticised  me,  for  they 
were  all  very  kind  when  they  saw  that  I  should  pass  muster, 
and  I  think  I  may  conclude  that  I  am  duly  and  solemnly  re- 
ceived into  county  society." 

"  1  should  think  so,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Worcester,  brid- 
ling. "  A  Vancourt  of  Vancourt  is  the  equal  of  all  and  the 
inperior  of  many;  and  though  we  were  poor,  w«  were  always 


20  [*1€VE,  THE  TTRANT. 

ladies,  I  troat,  my  dear  Esther.     I  can  say,  humbly, 
did  my  best." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  dear,  and  a  very  good  best  it  was.  What 
and  where  should  I  have  been  but  for  you,  auntie?  There,  I 
can't  k.ss  you  through  that  veil,  but  I'll  kiss  my  hand  to  you, 
and  I'll  beg  your  pardon  for  being  naughty,  and  I'll  promise 
to  be  good — but  you  muat  give  me  time,  auntie,  dear.  You 
see,  my  greatness  has  come  so  suddenly;  and  it's  hard  to 
realise  that  I  am  not  any  longer  Esther  Vancourt,  the  music- 
teacher,  but  Miss  Vancourt  of  Vancourt  Towers.  And  now, 
auntie,  I  am  going  to  pick  some  of  those  primroses  " — they 
were  in  the  lane  by  this  time — "  you  hold  the  reins." 

"  My  dear  Esther,  I'm  sure  the  pony  will  run  away!" 

"  No,  auntie!  What  will  happen,  if  anything  does,  will  be 
that  Toby  will  drop  off  to  sleep  and  fall  down;  but  you 
mustn't  let  him:  give  him  a  cut  with  the  whip:  he  will  only 
smile,  of  course,  for  he  couldn't  feel  it  through  that  thick  coat, 
but  it  will  keep  him  from  dozing  off." 

She  got  out  and  ran  lightly  up  the  bank,  and  the  pony 
wandered  on  at  a  snail's  pace. 

While  Esther  was  picking  the  primroses,  a  man  was  com- 
ing down  the  road  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which 
Miss  Worcester  was  being  reluctantly  dragged.  He  was  tall 
and  thin,  and  very  shabby.  The  dust  was  thick  on  his  boots, 
and  there  were  rents  in  his  clothes.  He  looked  something 
like  a  tramp  at  first  sight,  and  he  was  followed  by  a  splendid 
collie  as  dusty  as  himself.  The  man  was  walking  slowly, 
suiting  his  pace  to  that  of  the  dog,  who  was  limping  as  if  he 
were  lame,  and  soon  after  they  had  passed  the  pony-carriage, 
and  received  a  stony  and  timid  glance  from  the  elderly  lady  in 
it,  the  man  stopped  and  seated  himself  on  the  bank,  and  said 
to  the  dog: 

"  Let's  look  at  that  foot  again,  Bob,  old  man.  Seems  to 
me  you  are  going  more  dotty  on  it  than  you  did  this  morn- 
ing." 

&j\)  limped  up  beside  his  master,  and  settling  down,  held 
up  his  paw  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  with  an  expression  which 
said  quite  plainly:  "  Awfully  kind  of  you  to  bother  about  it, 
but  it  really  is  nothing  to  speak  of." 

The  man  took  the  foot  and  looked  at  it  anxiously,  and 
wiped  it  with  his  handkerchief. 

'Fraid  it's  going  to  fester,  old  man,"  he  said  in  the  low 
monotone  in  which  one  addresses  a  beloved  canine  friend. 

Bob's  eyes  said  he  thought  not,  and  tie  did  not  wince  when 


THE  TYBAST.  21 

his  master's  gentle  hand  touched  the  root  of  th«  thorn  which 
was  buried  in  the  pad. 

"  Wish  I'd  got  some  warm  water!  It's  two  miles  to  the 
nearest  inn,  Bob,  and  you're  heavy  to  carry;  besides,  you 
wouldn't  let  me,  you  obstinate  mule,  you!  Never  mind,  we'll 
have  a  spell  of  rest,  and  I'll  hold  your  foot;  it  eases  it,  doesn't 
it,  old  chap?" 

Bob  said  "  yes,"  and  looked  up  with  grateful  content,  his 
foot  clasped  tenderly  in  the  strong  hand.  The  man  got  out 
a  pipe  and  filled  and  lit  it  without  disturbing  the  dog,  and  as 
he  smoked,  looked  at  a  corner  of  the  Towers — at  the  half- 
ruined  tower  rising  above  the  moat — which  he  could  see  from 
where  he  sat. 

"  Funny  to  come  upon  the  old  place  like  this,  isn't  it, 
Bob?"  he  said,  with  rather  a  grim  smile.  "  I've  pictured  it 
many  a  time,  but  never  thought  I  should  see  it  from  the 
tramp's  point  of  view.  But  that  is  what  is  called  the  irony 
of  fate,  old  man.  "Well,  I'm  glad  I've  had  a  look  at  it;  and 
now  we'll  pad  the  hoof  back  to  London;  but  we'll  get  this 
hoof  of  yours  straight  first —  What's  the  matter?" 

The  dog  had  pricked  up  its  ears  and  emitted  a  low  growl; 
and  the  next  moment  a  young  girl  in  a  white  dress  and  a 
black  sash,  her  hair  blown  loose,  with  her  hat  in  one  hand 
and  a  bunch  of  primroses  in  the  other,  bounded  from  the 
bank  into  the  road  within  a  few  paces  of  them. 

The  dog  was  startled  and  made  a  rush  for  her,  which 
startled  her;  but  she  stood  still  and  quite  calm,  though  with 
a  touch  of  colour  in  the  clear  pallor  of  her  face. 

The  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and  called  the  dog;  and  Bob, 
after  a  critical  sniff  at  the  white  dress  and  the  not  much  less 
white  hand  held  out  to  him,  wagged  his  tail  and  slowly  limped 
back  to  his  master. 

The  man  raised  his  hat. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon;  I'm  afraid  my  dog  startl — " 

But  Esther  did  not  wait  for  the  rest. 

"  What  a  beautiful  dog!"  she  said;  "  and,  oh,  poor  fellow, 
he  is  lame!  What  is  it?" 

"  A  collie,"  said  the  man. 

She  eyed  him  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  know  that,  my  good  man!  I  mean  what 
has  he  done  to  his  leg?" 

The  "  good  man  "  bent  down  to  hide  a  smile,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  dog's  head. 

"It's  his  foot.  He  ran  a  thorn  into  it  yesterday.  I 
ttooght  I'd  taken  it  out,  but  I  must  have  left  a  piece  in—" 


22  LOVE,  THU  TYRANT. 

"Ah,  yesl  .and  it  may  fester!  How  painful!  I  know 
what  he  must  be  suffering.  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  it  out. 
May  I  try?  I've  got  a  small  pair  of  tweezers  in  my  knife — 
where  is  it?*'  She  felt  in  the  mysterious  region  where  women 
keep  their  pockets.  "  Oh,  here  it  is!  I'm  not  afraid  of  his 
biting  me.  I'm  used  to  dogs,  and  love  them." 

"  He  will  not  bite  you,"  said  the  man.  4<  But  he  may  soil 
your  dress.  If  yon  will  give  me  the  tweezers—" 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly.  Something  in  his  voice,  in 
his  manner,  surprised  her,  and  made  her  vaguely  uneasy. 
She  had  taken  him  for  a  common  or  garden  tramp;  but  his 
tone,  and  his  face,  now  that  she  looked  at  it,  and  more  espe- 
cially the  dark  eyes  regarded  her  so  calmly  and  gravely, 
knocked  the  tramp  estimate  into  a  cocked  hat. 

"  Perhaps  if  you  held  him  while  I  tried  to  get  it  out — " 
she  suggested. 

He  nodded,  spoke  a  word  to  Bob,  who  had  looked  on  at- 
tentively and  in  courteous  silence,  and  who  now  held  up  his 
paw  with  dignified  and  gentle  resignation.  Esther  took  the 
paw  and  began  the  usual  game  with  the  tweezers. 

"  I  shall  know  if  I  hurt  him,  because  he  will  call  out,"  she 
said. 

"  No,  he  won't  call  out,"  said  the  man,  quietly.  "  He 
never  complains.  He  has  walked  miles  with  that  thing  in  his 
foot,  and  tried  to  hide  the  limp." 

"  You  are  fond  of  him?"  she  said,  quickly,  and  leaving  off 
the  surgical  operation  to  look  up  at  his  face. 

The  man  only  smiled. 

"  And  no  wonder!  He  is  a  beauty!  Such  a  noble  head 
and  kind,  gentle  eyes!  No,  I  can't  reach  it,  but  I  know 
where  it  is.  What  shall  we  do?"  She  sighed  and  looked 
round  impatiently.  "  He  can't  walk  any  farther.  Oh, 
would  you  mind  going  down  the  lane  till  you  come  to  a 
lodge?  You  could  get  a  needle  there,  and  some  water  to 
bathe  his  foot.  I'll  come  after  you  directly.  Where  have 
auntie  and  Toby  gone?" 

They  had  not  gone  far,  and  were  now  returning:  how  Miss 
Worcester  had  succeeded  in  turning  Toby  will  forever  remain 
a  mystery. 

"  My  dear,  I  thought  some  accident  had  happened —  What 
is  this?"  she  broke  off,  eyeing  the  man  and  the  dog  fear- 
somely. 

"  The  dog  is  lame.  Isn't  it  a  beauty,  aunt?  I  never  saw 
•ne  like  it.  And  I  love  collies." 

Now,  Miss  Worcester  was  near-sighted,  and  the  man  was  to 


COVE,  THE  TYRANT,  23 

Her  Jwst  a  tramp.  A  brilliant  idea  seized  her,  and  she  rose  to 
ft  promptly. 

"  It  is  a  very  handsome  dog,  my  dear.  Why  not  buy  itf 
I  am  sure  the  young  fellow  would  sell  it.  Wouldn't  you?" 

The  young  fellow  crimsoned  from  neck  to  brow;  then,  as 
if  ashamed  of  his  sudden  emotion,  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way: 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  It  would  be  a  kindness  to  him 
to  change  owners.  No,  I'm  afraid  he's  such  a  fool  as  not  to 
think  so;  so  I  won't  sell  him,  thanks  very  much." 

Esther  had  gone  as  red  as  the  man;  but  to  hide  her  em- 
barrassment she  became  cold  and  impassive  at  once:  it  is  one 
of  those  charming  tricks  which  girls  have. 

"  We  don't  want  to  buy  your  dog,  thanks,"  she  said,  icily. 
"  You  can  take  it  to  the  lodge  and  tell  them  that  I  sent  you; 
and  I  hope  it  will  soon  be  all  right." 

The  man  raised  his  hat. 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  I  will  be  glad  to  do  so.  Whose 
name  shall  I  say?" 

"  Esther  Vancourt  " — she  bit  her  lip,  and  drew  herself  up 
haughtily — "  Miss  Vancourt,  of  the  Towers." 


CHAPTER    III. 

JACK  GOKDON — he  had  almost  forgotten  his  real  name, 
John  Vancourt,  or  his  old  alias,  Arthur  Burton,  looked  after 
the  pony-jingle  with  a  rather  curious  smile  about  his  lips, 
then  he  and  Bob  went  on  and  found  the  lodge. 

It  was  a  large  one,  for  it  was  the  homestead  of  the  home 
farm,  and  a  little  way  from  the  house  were  the  cattle-yard 
and  sheds.  Jack  looked  up  admiringly  at  the  low-thatched 
roof  and  the  old  quartering  which  supported  the  red  brick 
work,  almost  covered  with  clematis  and  ivy,  and  wished  that 
he  were  Miss  Vancourt's  farmer  and  lodge-keeper;  for  he 
was  very  tired  and  hungry,  and  Miss  Esther  was  not  the  first 
person  who  had  mistaken  him  for  a  common  tramp. 

As  he  opened  the  rustic  gate  and  entered  the  little  front 
garden,  gay  and  odorous  with  roses  and  stocks,  a  little  woman, 
with  a  somewhat  careworn  face,  came  to  the  door,  and  imme- 
diately shook  her  head. 

"  I've  nothing — "  she  began;  bat  Jack  crif  ;-»  rather 
sharply: 

"  You  mistake;  I'm  not  begging —  Ah,  yes,  by  George! 
but  I  wii  though.'  My  dog's  got  a  thorn  in.  his  foot,  and  I 


24  LOVE,  THE  TTRAJST. 

want  a  needle  and  hot  water,  if  you'll  be  kind  enough  t»  let 
me  have  them." 

He  did  not  want  to  use  Miss  Vancourt's  name  unless  he 
were  obliged;  but  the  woman  still  eyed  him  with  a  troubled 
and  rather  suspicious  expression;  so  he  was  compelled  to  add: 

"  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  the  poor  fellow's  in  pain, 
and  Miss  Vancourt  gave  me  permission  to  ask  you." 

The  woman's  face  cleared. 

"  You  saw  her?" 

"With  another  lady  in  a  pony-carriage,"  he  said.  "I 
aha'n't  be  more  than  five  or  ten  minutes,  if  you'll  be  so  good. 
I  can  do  it  out  here  on  the  bench." 

She  nodded,  and  presently  brought  him  a  bowl  of  hot 
water,  a  towel,  and  a  packet  of  needles. 

"Now  then,  old  man,"  said  Jack,  cheerfully;  "get  ap 
here  and  we'll  have  this  operation  over  in  a  jiffy. " 

Though  he  had  to  probe  deeply  before  hs  could  extract  the 
thorn,  Bob  never  even  winced,  but  looked  up  in  his  face  with 
the  confiding,  grateful  look  which  is  only  seen  in  a  dog  or  a 
horse;  and  the  woman,  who  stood  looking  on,  was  touched  by 
the  gentleness  of  the  strong  man  and  the  evident  love  between 
him  and  the  animal. 

"  It's  a  beautiful  dog,"  she  said,  in  a  low  and  timid  voice. 
"  Is  the  water  hot  enough?  will  you  have  some  more?" 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Jack.  "We  shall  do  nicely  now— 
that  is,  if  he  hadn't  to  walk  so  far.  We'll  rest  a  lot  on  the 
way." 

"  You  have  walked  far  already?"  she  asked,  reluctantly. 

Jack  nodded. 

"  We've  been  walking  for  exactly  seven  days  and  a  half." 

She  glanced  uneasily  at  his  old  boots,  and  at  his  worn  and 
shabby  clothes.  He  was  evidently  a  tramp,  but  very  much 
unlike  the  species  with  which  she  was  acquainted. 

"  You  can  rest  here;  it's  cool  and  shady,"  she  said.  "  And 
would  you  like  a  glass  of  milk?" 

"  Very  much,  indeed,  thank  }0u,"  said  Jack,  as  he  bathed 
Bob's  foot. 

She  brought  him  some,  and  as  he  thanked  her  he  raised  his 
weather-stained  cap;  but  he  set  the  glass  on  the  bench  beside 
him,  and  throwing  the  water  out  of  the  bowl,  poured  some 
milk  into  it  and  gave  it  to  Bob,  and  he  even  waited  until  Bob 
had  eagerly  started  on  his  share  before  drinking  his  o?ra. 

This  little  bit  of  unselfishness,  natural  enough  to  Jack, 
broke  down  the  woman's  cautiousness,  and  she  went  into  tht 
Uouse  and  brought  oat  some  h«me-made  cake  .on  a  plate. 


IOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  25 

••  Perhaps  you — he — would  like  some,"  she  said,  almost 
apologetically. 

"  Both  of  us  would,"  said  Jack,  "  for  it's  a  very  long  time 
since  breakfast,  isn't  it,  Bob?  It's  good  cake,  ma'am;  and 
I'm  qualified  to  know,  for  I've  made  it  often  enough." 

She  coloured  faintly  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  cry 
of  a  child  rose  from  the  room  window,  and  she  hurried  away. 

Jack  shared  the  cake  with  Bob,  and  leant  back  in  the 
porch-settle,  and  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a  rest  and  reflec- 
tion. 

So  that  was  his  dead  chum's  sister,  the  Miss  Esther  Van- 
court  for  whom  he,  Jack,  had  surrendered  his  title  and  estates! 
Pretty  girl — more  than  pretty.  And  proud,  too.  Never  in 
his  life  had  he  been  treated  to  so  much  hauteur.  He  had 
promised  his  chum  that  he  would  find  her  and  look  after  her; 
but  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  not  in  need  of  much  protection, 
and  that  she  was  quite  capable  of  looking  after  herself.  She 
had  said  that  she  would  come  on  to  the  lodge,  and  perhaps 
she  might;  if  so,  he  would  clear  out.  There  was  no  reason 
why  he  should  see  Miss  Esther  Vancourt  again;  she  was  rich 
and  powerful,  and  was  in  the  charge  of  her  aunt:  yes,  he'd 
be  oft',  back  to  London,  to  look  for  work. 

He  rose  and  gathered  up  the  bowl  and  the  other  things. 

"  I'll  get  on  my  way  now,"  he  said,  speaking  to  the  open 
door.  "  You'll  let  me  bring  these  things  in?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  woman's  voice  from  the  room,  and 
Jack  walked  in  and  set  the  things  on  the  table.  The  woman 
was  kneeling  beside  a  chair  in  which  was  sitting  a  little  girl — 
a  pretty  little  soul,  with  a  thin  but  flushed  face  which  peered 
out  pitifully  from  the  big  shawl  wrapped  round  her;  and 
Jack,  to  whom  children  were  almost  as  irresistible  as  dogs 
and  horses,  could  not  help  drawing  near  and  looking  at  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her?"  he  asked. 

"  She's  had  the  measles,"  said  the  mother  in  a  low  voice. 
4  She  ought  to  be  well  by  now,  but  she  got  a  chill." 

"Oh,  only  measles,"  said  Jack,  cheerfully.  "That's  not 
much;  everybody  has  measles." 

The  child  had  half  hidden  her  face  behind  her  shawl,  but 
her  unnaturally  bright  eyes  had  been  watching  the  stranger, 
aid  something  in  the  tanned,  handsome  face,  the  deep,  mu- 
sical voice,  must  have  reassured  her,  for  she  said  with  dignity: 

"  Measles  is  vewy  painful." 

"  So  they  are!"  assented  Jack,  promptly;  "  but  you'll  get 
over  them  all  right.  You've  got  too  much  pluck  to  be 
beaten  by  a  paltry  kind  of  thing  like  measle%  you.  have." 


2o  LOVE,  THE  TYEANT. 

"  How  do  yon  know?"  said  the  child,  quaintly. 

"  I  can  see  it  in  the  curl  of  your  nose,"  said  Jack,  gravely. 

•*  Oh,  do  you  always  tell  that  way?"  she  enquired,  much 
interested. 

"  Always,"  he  said,  solemnly. 

"  I'm  so  tired  of  sitting  here!  I  want  to  lie  down,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I'm  not  strong  enough,  and  she  can't  walk.  You  must 
wait  till  father  comes  home,  Nettie,"  said  the  mother,  ex- 
plainingly. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  needn't,"  said  Jack,  cheerfully;  "  I'll  carry 
her." 

The  mother  looked  grateful  but  doubtful,  and  the  child 
shrank  back  a  little;  but  Jack  put  his  arm  round  her  with 
that  peculiar  smile  which  goes  straight  to  a  child's  heart. 

"  You're  afraid  I  shall  drop  you,  that's  what  you  are,"  he 
said.  "  I  didn't  think  you  were  such  a  coward." 

"I'm  not  a  coward!"  she  declared,  indignantly,  "and 
I'm  not  af waid.  But  perhaps  you're  afwaid  you'll  catch  the 
measles;  it's  awful  catchin',  isn't  it,  mother?" 

Jack  pretended  to  tremble  and  draw  back,  but  she  de- 
tected the  pretence  and  laughed — for  the  first  time  for  many 
weeks,  the  mother  remembered. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  resignedly.  "  But  don't  wrinkle  me 
all  up,  as  father  does  sometimes." 

"  I'll  be  as  careful  as  if  you  were  a  jelly,"  he  said;  and  he 
raised  her  in  his  strong  arms,  drawing  the  shawl  round  her 
with  a  deftness  which  surprised  the  mother,  who  led  the  way 
into  an  inner  room  in  which  was  a  cot. 

Jack  laid  the  child  on  it,  gave  the  pillow  a  shake,  and 
drew  the  shawl  over  her  neatly. 

"  How's  that,  umpire?"  he  asked,  with  the  same  irresisti- 
ble  smile. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you.  You  did  it  better  than  father," 
she  replied.  "But  I  specs  you're  used  to  children.  Have 
you  got  a  nice  little  girl  like  me?" 

Jack  checked  a  sigh,  though  he  kept  the  smile  well  on. 
Not  for  the  first  time  was  his  loneliness  borne  in  upon  him. 

"  No,  thank  goodnessl"  he  replied.  "  See  what  a  trouble 
they  are!  Well,  good-bye,  Nettie.  And  get  well  soon,  for 
mother's  sake." 

"  I  will,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hot  little  paw.  '  Yon 
may  kiss  me  if  you  like — if  you're  not  weaiiy  aiwaid  of  the 
measles." 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  Jff 

"III  risk  it,"  said  Jack,  and  he  bent  and  kig*ed  the 
parched  lips. 

The  child  watched  him  with  hot,  wistful  eyes  as  he  fol- 
lowed the  mother  out  of  the  room. 

**  Was  that  wise?"  she  asked,  anxiously,  but  with  gratitude 
and  liking  in  her  timid  eyes. 

"  What?  Oh,  kissing  the  child!  Good  heavens,  yes!  Be- 
sides, it  wouldn't  matter  very  much  if  I  did.  The  inside  of  a 
hospital  would  be  rather  a  pleasant  change  for  awhile.  She's 
a  very  pretty  little  thing.  And  there's  no  need  for  you  to  be 
anxious.  She'll  do  very  well." 

"  I  don't  know  how  ito  thank  you,"  she  faltered.  "  And — 
and  I  should  like  to  beg  your  pardon.  I  took  you  for  a 
tramp,  sir;  but — but  I  can  see  you're  not  what  you  seem." 

"Very  few  of  us  are,"  said  Jack,  with  his  short  laugh. 
"  But  there's  no  cause  for  apology;  I'm  just  a  tramp,  I  as- 
sure you.  Good-evening,  and  thank  you  very  much!  I  go 
straight  on  for  Barminster." 

She  went  with  him  to  the  gate  to  direct  him,  and  would 
have  liked  to  hold  out  her  hand,  but  was  afraid. 

Jack  and  Bob  took  the  road  again  and  Bob  checked  the  de- 
sire to  limp,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  lark  about  to  show 
that  he  had  completely  recovered.  His  master  walked  along 
in  a  brown  study  which  grew  browner  as,  coming  to  a  bend  in 
the  road,  he  got  a  very  pretty,  full  view  of  the  Towers.  The 
place  looked  magnificent  in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  and, 
leaning  on  a  stile,  Jack  looked  at  it  with  a  frown  on  his  brow 
and  a  curious  tightening  of  the  lips. 

"  Just  as  well  I'm  clearing  out,"  he  murmured,  "  or  I 
should  be  tempted  to  think  I  was  being  badly  treated  by  Fate. 
No;  I  might  be  tempted,  but  I  fancy  I  should  stand  firm. 
He  gave  his  life  for  me,  and  life's  worth  twenty  Vancourt 
Towers.  No;  let  her  keep  it.  After  all,  she's  better  suited 
to  the  shop  than  I  am.  She's  young  and  pretty,  and  looks  as 
if  she'd  play  the  part  to  perfection,  while  I — oh,  Lord!  what 
should  1  do  with  a  place  like  that  and  a  quarter  of  a  million 
of  money?  What  rot  I  talk!  As  if  I  didn't  know  what  I'd 
do!  Wouldn't  I  have  a  stable  full  of  horses,  and  hunt  four 
days  a  week  in  winter,  and  keep  a  yacht  in  the  bay  there, 
and —  Ah,  well,  what's  the  use  of  repining,  as  toe  song 
says.  I've  given  my  word,  and  I'll  stand  by  it." 

I  ought  to  add  that  he  confirmed  this  assertion  with  a  word 
or  two,  which  the  highly  respectable  compositor  would  very 
properly  refuse  to  set  up;  and  reluctantly  dragging  his  eyea 
from  toe  vast  building,  the  wide-stretching  lawn*  and  parks, 


28  K>TB,  THE  TYRAOT. 

the  stately  elms  beneath  which  the  deer  were  placidly  feeding^ 
resumed  his  tramp. 

He  had  not  got  very  far  on  the  high-road  when  he  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels,  and  looking  round,  saw  that  it  was  the 
pony-jingle  with  the  two  ladies.  His  face  flushed  for  an  in- 
stant, and  he  quickened  his  pace;  for  he  didn't  want  another 
interview  with  Miss  Vancourt  of  Vancourt  Towers;  but  that 
young  lady  was  evidently  urging  Master  Toby,  and  Jack  was 
thinking  of  turning  down  a  Dye-lane  until  they  had  passed, 
when  he  heard  a  commotion  on  the  road  in  front  of  him. 

A  small  farmer's  cart  was  coming  down  the  road,  not  in 
the  sober  fashion  appropriate  to  such  a  vehicle,  but  in  a  reck- 
less, rollicking  way  due  to  the  antics  of  the  horse.  It  was  all 
over  the  road  at  once,  and  half  rearing  and  kicking;  and,  as 
Jack  watched  it,  it  looked  very  much  as  if  it  were  going  to 
bolt. 

The  driver  was  standing  up  in  the  cart,  and  when  Jack  got 
nearer  he  saw  that  the  man  was  "  three  sheets  in  the  wind." 
His  hat  was  off,  and  he  was  laughing  in  a  happy-go-lucky, 
reckless  wa?,  as  he  tugged  at  the  rope  reins. 

Jack  smiled. 

"  He'il  come  out  on  that  jolly-looking  head  of  his  pres- 
ently," he  thought.  "  Being  screwed,  he  won't,  of  course, 
hurt  himself:  they  never  do.  The  horse  is  a  young  'un,  and 
a  good  one  too;  as  he's  sober  he'll  probably  rick  himself  or 
something." 

Then  the  horse  did  actually  bolt,  and  Jack's  smile  died 
away,  for  he  remembered  the  pony-jingle  which  was  trun- 
dling along  behind  him;  the  farmer's  cart  would  make  ex- 
ceedingly small 'potatoes  of  that  if  it  came  into  collision  with 
it. 

"  Seems  to  me  I'm  in  luck  to-day,"  he  said  to  himself, 
grimly.  "  Of  course,  I've  got  to  stop  that  beastly  thing,  and 
I  shall  probably  be  knocked.down  and  generally  chawed  up. 
I'm  nearer  that  hospital  than  I  thought.  Here,  Bob,  you 
stand  out  of  it,  and  take  a  back  seat.  Lie  down  now!" 

He  ran  forward  as  he  spoke,  and  gathering  himself  to- 
gether, made  ready  for  a  spring.  As  he  did  so,  the  jingle 
came  round  the  corner,  the  two  ladies  saw  the  little  play  that 
was  being  enacted,  and  Miss  Worcester  cried  aloud  after  the 
manner  of  her  kind. 

Jack  heard  it — noticing  that  the  girl  made  no  sound — as  he 
leapt  at  the  horse.  There  was  a  tussle,  a  clatter  of  hoofs, 
and  a  cloud  of  dust  through  which,  as  through  a  mist,  Esther 
saw  the  horse  forced  back  on  to  its  haunches  by  *  supreme 


ICVE,  THE  TTBA35T!,  29 

effort  which,  strained  every  muscle  Jack  owned.    She  also  saw 

the  low  comedian  of  the  play — the  farmer,  to  wit — come  out 
on  his  head,  as  Jack  had  mentally  prophesied.  She  drew  up 
besitle  the  cart  and  jumped  out,  much  to  Jack's  disgust. 

"  Keep  out  of  the  way!"  he  cried,  none  too  gently,  for  the 
advent  of  the  other  characters  on  the  scene  excited  the  young 
mare  and  set  her  dancing  dangerously  near  Jack's  toes. 

Esther  retreated  a  few  yards  and  looked  on,  pale  but  calrv 
while  Jack  and  the  mare  waltzed  about  in  the  dust;  then, 
when  tne  victory  was  with  the  man,  she  came  up. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  asked.  She  was  trembling  just  8 
little,  and  she  bit  her  lip  to  keep  it  steady. 

"  I?  Not  a  bit!"  said  Jack,  coolly.  "  But  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  that  idiot  is;"  and  he  nodded  to  the  jolly-faced 
figure  lying  in  the  dust. 

She  crimsoned  painfully. 

"  Oh,  I — I  forgot  him — for  a  moment!*'  she  said,  peni- 
tently; and  she  went  to  where  her  aunt  was  bending  over  the 
man.  "  Why,  it's  Martin!"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Martin,  are 
you  hurt?"  for  Martin  had  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  now 
stood  looking  extremely  sheepish  and  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Not  by  no  means,  miss,"  he  replied,  touching  his  fore- 
head where  his  ha,t  should  have  been.  "  Leastways,  I  think 
not.  What  happened,  mister?  We  was  a-coming  along 
quiet  arid  easy  like — " 

"  Free  and  easy,"  said  Jack  in  the  tone  in  which  a  man 
who  is  sober  addresses  the  man  who  is  not.  "  This  is  a  three* 
year-old,  isn't  it?  Did  you  think  vou'd  got  a  child's  roeking- 
norse  in  the  shafts?" 

The  man  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  good-tempered  re- 
sentment. 

"  We'd  a-been  all  right  if  it  hadn't  stopped  suddenly,"  he 
said. 

"  For  shame,  Martin!"  Miss  Vancourt  broke  in.  "  The 
horse  was  bolting,  and  this — this  gentleman  stopped  it  in  the 
— the  most  wonderful  way.  It  is  a  marvel  he  wasn't  injured, 
and  that  you're  not  killed." 

Martin^,  though  not  killed,  looked  very  much  wounded  in 
spirit. 

"Me,  miss!  Lor*  bless  your innercenfc  heart!  I've  betn 
tumbling  out  of  carts  all  my  life — " 

"  You'll  tumble  once  too  often,  my  friend,"  said  Jack, 
who  wanted  to  cut  the  business  short  and  get  on  his  way. 
"  Tumble  up  now,  and  keep  a  steady  hand  on  her.  You're 
all  right  bj  now,  aren't  yon?"  he  added,  significantly. 


80*,  WVE,  TEE  TYBAOT. 

The  man  understood  and  nodded. 

"  Bight  as  rain,  mister!  Sorry  I've  caused  all  this  rumpus, 
though  if  the  mare  had  been  let  alone — "  He  moved  toward 
the  cart,  but  stopped  and  winced,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  leg 
with  an  air  of  surprise  and  humiliation.  "  Blest  if  I  don't 
think  I've  been  and  hurted  my  blessed  leg!"  he  muttered. 

"  Esther,  you  surely  will  not  permit  the  poor  man  to  drive 
that  dreadful  horse  in  his  injured  condition!"  said  Miss 
Worcester,  in  a  flutter  of  excitement  and  anxiety. 

Esther  bit  her  lip  softly  and  looked  about  her  helplessly, 
then  her  face  cleared. 

"  Of  course!  Aunt,  you  must  drive  to  the  farm  and  tell 
them  to  send  someone,  and  I'll  wait  here;  unless — " 

Jack  saw  it  coming  and  resigned  himself. 

"  I'll  drive  him  home,"  he  said.     "  Is  it  far?" 

"  Oh,  will  you?  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Esther, 
with  obvious  relief.  "  It  is  the  home  farm — at  the  lodge, 
you  know.  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  and  I — we — are  very  much 
obliged,  I'm  sure." 

Jack  raised  his  hat,  but  was  too  busy  hoisting  Martin  into 
the  cart  to  pay  much  attention  to  these  polite  expressions. 

"  We'll  follow  and  wait  to  see  if  he  is  hurt,"  she  added. 

"  He's  either  broken  or  sprained  his  leg — the  latter,  I 
think,"  said  Jack.  "  Anyway,  he'll  want  a  doctor." 

"  Of  course!"  said  Esther,  again,  apologetically.  "  We'll 
go  and  fetch  him:  it  is  only  into  the  village." 

Jack  made  Martin  comfortable  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart, 
and  mounting,  kept  the  mare — who,  with  the  cuteness  of  her 
sex,  was  well  aware  that  she  had  met  her  master — at  a  walk. 
Presently  Martin  began  to  fidget  with  his  hand  at  his  coat,  an 
anxious  expression  on  his  ruddy  face. 

"  Lost  anything?"  asked  Jack. 

Martin  succeeded  in  lugging  a  bottle  out  of  his  pocket  md, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  remarked: 

"  It's  all  right!  Blest  if  I  didn't  think  I'd  broke  it.  It's 
whiskey — have  a  drop,  mister?" 

Jack  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  not  just  now,  thanks.  No,  yon  don't!"  and  he  took 
the  bottle  away  as  it  was  approaching  Martin's  lips.  "  That's 
the  wrong  sort  of  stuff  for  your  complaint." 

"  Whiskey's  good  for  every  thing,"  said  Martin,  in  a  sol- 
emn and  injured  tone  of  voice.  "  You're  talkin'  foolish, 
young  man!" 

They  reached  the  lodge  at  last,  raid  Mrs.  Martin  came 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  31 

oat.  She  uttered  a  little  cry,  but  did  not  appear  to  oe  over- 
whelmed with  astonishment. 

"  Is  he  very  much  hurt — this  time?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no!"  said  Jack,  cheerfully.  "  Lean  on  me,  my 
friend.  He's  not  much  hurt.  We'll  get  him  upstairs,  though. 
Shut  that  door — there's  no  need  to  frighten  the  child,"  he 
added,  in  a  lower  voice. 

The  woman  looked  at  him:  the  mother's  look  of  apprecia- 
tion— and  between  them  they  got  Martin  upstairs.  When 
Jack  came  down  again  the  jingle  was  just  driving  up;  and 
there  was  annoyance  and  impatience  in  Miss  Vancourt's  face. 

"  The  doctor  is  out,"  she  said.  "  So  provoking!  Is  he 
very  much  hurt?" 

"  Simple  fracture,"  replied  Jack. 

She  looked  at  him. 

"  Are  you  a — a  doctor?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Jack.  "  But  I've  seen  a  broken  leg  before. 
The  doctor  will  be  here  presently,  I  suppose?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  we  left  word,"  she  said.  "  How  unfortunate 
it  is.  And  Nettie,  Mrs.  Martin's  little  girl,  ill.  I'll  go  in 
and  see  her;  perhaps  she's  frightened." 

She  entered  the  little  passage,  but  Jack  unceremoniously 
stepped  in  front  of  her  and  blocked  her  way. 

"  You  can't  go  in  there,"  he  said,  in  his  curt,  not  to  say 
masterful,  way. 

She  looked  at  him  with  amazement  in  her  beautiful  grey 
eyes. 

"  What?"  she  said,  her  face  flushing.     ;<  Why  can  I  not?'* 

"  The  child  has  the  measles,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Well?" 

"  Well!"  he  echoed,  rather  impatiently.  "  Why,  you  may 
catch  it;  and  it's  a  bad  kind." 

The  colour  deepened  on  her  face,  and  her  eyes  fell  before 
his  cool  and  somewhat  weary  and  bored  ones;  then  she  looked 
up  with  a  liauteur  which,  if  the  truth  must  be  told — and  the 
truth  shall  be  told  of  Esther  Vancourt  in  this  record — was 
not  a  little  assumed. 

"  Please  stand  aside.  Do  you  think  I'm  afraid?  I'm — 
I'm  ashamed  of  you!" 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders.and  stood  aside,  and  she  swept 
in  like  a  queen;  but  looking  over  his  shoulder  a  moment 
cifter,  he  saw  her  kneeling  besido  the  cot  and  kissing  the 
child,  whom  she  had  taken  in  her  arms. 

"  Like  the  picture  in  a  Cl^Ltaiaa  number  I"  be  iaifl  tt 


32  LOVE.  THE  TTEA3JT. 

himself.  "  Well,  I'll  be  off  and  take  that  rememorance  of 
her  with  me." 

He  called  Bob,  who  was  sitting  bolt  upright  eyeing  the  pro- 
ceedings with  a  philosophic  calm,  and  made  bis  way  to  the 
&oorc  But  he  was  not  to  escape  so  easily. 

"  Oh,  where  are  you  going,  my  good  man?"  asked  Mic , 
Worcester  from  the  jingle. 

"  To  London,  ma'am,"  said  Jack,  raising  his  hat. 

"  Oh — er — really  I  think  you  had  better  stay!"  said  the 
old  lady,  with  the  calm  assurance — Jack  mentally  called  it 
cheek — of  her  age  and  class.  "  My  niece  may  want  you.  At 
any  rate,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  remain  here  till  she  has 
spoken  to  you — and  the  doctor  conies." 

Jack  bowed  and  leant  against  the  porch. 

"  1  chuck  up  the  sponge!"  he  said  to  himself,  with  an  air 
of  resignation  and  long  suffering.  "  Bob,  Fate's  one  too 
many  for  us!  This  is  the  last  time  you  and  I  do  a  friendly 
deed,  old  man:  the  very  last  time;  and  don't  you  forget  it!" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

JACK  went  round  to  the  stable  to  see  if  the  young  mare  waa 
hurt — he  had  given  her  in  charge  of  a  chuckle-headed  youth 
whose  eyes  threatened  to  drop  out  with  staring  at  the  stranger 
who  looked  like  a  tramp  and  talked  like  the  gentry — and  wan- 
dered about  the  rick-yards  until  the  doctor  drove  up;  then  he 
'^•;-.i!«red  round  to  the  house  to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  use. 

I  Lie  doctor  was  an  old  man,  bent  and  grey  with  years  of 
toil — a  country  doctor's  life  is  perhaps  the  hardest  a  man  can 
lead.  He  sits  in  a  gig  or  on  a  horse  all  day,  and  there  is  al- 
ways the  off  chance  that  he  will  be  called  up  in  the  night  to 
do  a  dozen  miles  or  so  in  rain  or  snow;  but  there  was  a  good- 
tempered  twinkle  in  his  shrewd  eyes  and  a  cheerful  ring  in 
his  voice,  and  though  his  manners  were  somewhat  brusque,  he 
p/as  agentleman. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  this  time?"  Jack  heard  him  ask  Mrs. 
Martin.  "  Fallen  off  a  haystack,  got  chawed  up  by  the 
threshing-machine?  Oh,  horse  run  away:  broke  his  leg,  has 
ce?  Well,  there's  one  good  thing,  he  can't  break  his  head . 
it's  too  thick.  Hallo,  young  lady,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 
be  broke  off,  addressing  Esther  as  she  came  to  the  door. 
'-'•  You've  no  business  here;  don't  you  know  there's  a  case  of 
measles  in  the  house?" 

Esther  laughed. 


LOTE,  THE  TYRAOT.  "  83 

w  I've  been  scolded  for  that  already,  doctor,**  sh«  began, 
giving  Him  her  hand,  then  she  caught  sight  of  Jack  and 
pulled  up  short.  "  Yes,  Fin  sorry  to  say  poor  Martin  has 
met  with  an  accident.  The  mare  bolted,  and  Martin  might 
iia73  been  killed — " 

"  Not  he!"  interjected  Doctor  Grey. 

"  If  this — this  gentleman  had  not  stopped  her." 

The  old  doctor  turned  sharply  on  Jack  and  scrutinised  him 
keenly. 

"  Humph!  Looks  as  if  he  could.  Not  hurt  yourself,  I 
see.  It's  a  great  pity.  Such  a  nice  creature — it  was  the 
young  cart  mare,  I  suppose?  And  it  was  market  day — ah, 
yes!  Just  so.  Well,  I'll  go  upstairs  and  settle  him.  I've 
Brought  my  tools;  for  when  1  heard  it  was  Martin,  I  knew 
be'd  broken  something.  I  wish  they'd  put  more  water  in 
w'i  it  they  call  their  whiskey  at  the  King's  Head." 

He  went  upstairs,  and  Esther  stood  at  the  door,  and  Jack 
leant  on  the  gate  in  silence. 

"  We  shall  be  dreadfully  late  for  dinner,  Esther,"  said 
Miss  Worcester,  with  plaintive  resignation.  "  But  we  cannot 
go  until  we  hear  the  doctor's  opinion.  Would  you  mind  hold- 
ing the  pony's  head,  young  man?" 

She  was  getting  tired  of  sitting  in  the  cramped  position  de- 
manded by  a  jingle,  and  was  still  in  mortal  terror  lest  Toby, 
demoralised  by  example,  should  take  to  bolting  on  his  own 
account. 

Jack  helped  her  out  and  stood  beside  the  pony,  eyeing  it 

fravely,  and  apparently  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the 
eautiful  girl  in  the  porch,  who,  with  equal  gravity,  was 
watching  him,  without  appearing  to  look  at  him:  a  sleight  of 
eye  which  can  only  be  performed  to  perfection  by  a  woman. 
Presently  Bob  rose  with  a  yawn,  and  ran  up  to  her  anc 
wagged  his  tail  by  way  of  opening  a  conversation.  She  sal; 
down  on  the  settle  and  took  his  head  in  her  hands  and  looked 
;nto  his  big,  soft  orbs,  then  lifted  his  leg  and  inspected  his 
foot. 

"  Your  dog  seem  to  be  all  right  now,"  she  said,  her  clear 
voice  carrying  to  Jack  quite  easily.  "  Did  you  get  the  thorn 
out?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "  By  the  way,  Miss  Vancourt,  I  dioi 
not  thank  you  for  your  kind  attempts. " 

Esther  raised  her  brows:  for  it  was  not  usual  for  men  in 
seedy  attire,  with  unwaterproof  boots>  to  address  her  as  "  Miss 
Vancourt."  There  was  no  disrespect  in  the  tone,  but  a  sug- 
gestion of  equality  that  Esther  thought  rather  strange. 


34  WVE,  THE  TTRAKli. 

"  Bob  was  very  grateful,  and  so  was  I,  though  we  forgot,  C  :> 
mention  it" 

"  I  am  fond  of  dogs,"  she  said,  "  especially  when  they  are 
well-bred  and  handsome,  and  beautifully  mannered,  as  this 
one  is." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Jack.  "  Though  you  often  find  a  com- 
mon mongrel  well-mannered  and  affectionate:  but  beauty 
and  birth  have  the  first  pull,  of  course." 

"  This — accident  has  detained  you,  I  am  afraid."  she  said, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence,"  remarked  Jack,  resignedly. 
"  I'm  in  no  particular  hurry.  It's  all  in  the  day's  work." 

Esther  looked  at  him  curiously — not  for  the  first  time. 

"  What  is  your — work?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing — at  present.  I'm  looking  for  some.  I've  been 
working  at  the  docks — dock  labourer,  you  know;  but  I  snj»» 
pose  I  can  call  myself  a  farmer — farm-hand." 

"  You  will  find  it  difficult  to  find  work  now,"  said  Esther. 
"  All  the  farmers  have  engaged  their  men;  they  do  so  afc 
Lady  Day,  and  it's  just  past." 

"  I  daresay,"  he  assented.  "  I'm  going  to  London. 
There's  always  the  docks  there,  if  there's  nothing  else." 

"  It  is  terribly  hard  work,  isn't  it?"  she  asked.  "  I've 
read  about  the  men  at  the  docks,  and  I  know  they  carry  tre- 
mendous weights." 

*'  Oh,  it's  hard  enough,  but  I've  seen  harder.  You  don't 
think  this  pony  is  going  to  run  away,  do  you?" 

Esther  laughed  by  way  of  reply,  and  Jack,  who  objected  to 
talking  at  such  a  distance  from  his  auditor,  strolled  up  the 

garden.  Esther  coloured  faintly,  for  there  was  something  to 
er  rather  appalling  in  this  young  man's  coolness,  not  to  say 
sang-froid.  And,  woman-like,  she  was  fighting  against  his 
evident  strength  and  equally  obvious  grace. 

"  Do  you  like  driving?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause,  as  he 
leant  against  the  porch. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Esther,  wondering  what  he  was  going 
to  say  now,  and  whether  she  was  going  to  be  offended, 
"Why?" 

"  Oh,  well,  I  daresay  you  will  think  it  is  like  my  cheek; 
but  I  was  wondering  why  you  didn't  drive  something  different 
to  that  little  beast,  which,  regarded  as  a  nursery  toy,  is  well 
enough,  but  as  a  horse,  leaves  something  to  be  desired.  B"f 
perhaps  you  like  going  at  two  miles  an  hour?" 

"  No,  I  don't ,  said  Esther,  indignantly.  "  But — will,  I 
yrtfer  it  to  a  regular  carriage,  and  though  there  is  a  4og » 


LOVE,   THE  TYEAST.  35 

cart,  of  course,  I'm  not  used  to  it.  I've  only  been  at  the 
Towers  a  short  time — that  is,  I  didn't  know  whether  they 
were  mine — "  She  coloured  and  bit  her  lip,  feeling  that  the 
dark  eyes  were  studying  her  coolly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon:  very  rude  of  me.  But  you  should 
try  it.  Given  a  well-balanced  dog-cart  with  a  clinking 
mare —  Here's  the  doctor. " 

"  All  right,  my  dear  young  lady.     Only  a  broken  leg." 

"  Only!"  said  Esther. 

"  Do  Martin  all  the  good  in  the  world  to  be  quiet  a  bit; 
that  is,  if  he  doesn't  worry;  and  he  doesn't  usually;  but  he's 
worrying  now.  Seems  that  he's  a  man  short — his  foreman 
left  him  suddenly,  and  Martin  declares  things  will  all  go 
wrong  if  he  can't  get  about.  Where's  the  young  man  who 
played  the  hero?  Oh,  there  you  are!  Do  you  want  me  to  go 
over  you?  Sure  you  haven't  broken  or  sprained  anything? 
That  young  mare  is  strong  and  heady." 

"  Quite  sure,  thanks,"  said  Jack.  "  Well,  I'll  be  moving. 
Glad  it's  nothing  serious  with  the  farmer.  Good-day!"  He 
raised  his  hat  and  prepared  to  depart,  and  as  he  did  so, 
Esther,  with  a  touch  of  colour  in  her  face,  leant  forward  and 
said  something  in  a  low  voice  to  the  doctor. 

"  Eh?  What?  Yes;  just  so;  but  we  don't  know  anything 
about  him,"  he  muttered,  in  response. 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  he's — he's  honest,  and  can  be  trusted!" 
said  Esther,  swiftly.  "  Be  quick,  doctor,  or  he'll  be  gone!" 

The  keen  eyes  looked  at  her,  as  if  he  were  amused  by  her 
impetuosity. 

"  Oh,  if  you  answer  for  him — "  he  said.  "  Hi,  young 
man!" 

Jack  stopped  with  a  sigh  and  an  inaudible  word  of  one 
syllable. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  a  job?    Excuse  my  abruptness." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Jack,  courteously.     "  Y-es.  I  am." 

"  Well,  here's  one  ready  to  drop  into  your  mouth!"  said 
the  doctor.  "  My  friend  Martin  wants  a  hand — a  foreman — 
and  Miss  Vancourt  tells  me  you  have  been  a  farm-hand,  and 
she  is  kind  enough  to  speak  for  you." 

Esther  hadn't  bargained  for  this,  and  she  coloured,  then 
drew  herself  up  and  gazed  straight  before  her  with  the  in- 
difference of  a  hundred-ton  gun. 

Jack  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  the  picture  of 
doubt  and  uncertainty;  and  the  doctor,  rather  nettled  by  the 
young  fellow's  hesitation,  said: 


36  LOVE,  THE  TYRAlHi 

"  It's  a  good  offer,  my  young  fr^nd,  and  if  1  were  yon  1 

should  jump  at  it." 

"  Right,"  said  Jack.     "  I  jump." 

The  doctor  smiled. 

"  That's  better.  Well,  you'd  better  come  in  at  once,  I 
should  think.  Go  upstairs  and  talk  to  Martin — I'll  give  you 
ten  minutes.  I  suppose  you've  got  a  character?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  gravely;  "  but  it's  not  a  particularly 
good  one." 

The  doctor  tried  to  look  grave,  but  there  was  a  twinkle  in 
his  shrewd  eyes. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that — but  we'll  risk  it.  You've  got 
the  right  look  about  you." 

'*  Thank  you:  it's  about  all  I've  got  about  me,"  said  Jack, 
pleasantly;  *'  and  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  giving  me  tha 
place.  I  won't  let  Martin  overtalk  himself." 

"  From  your  style  I  should  say  you'd  been  abroad — colonies 
— Australia,  eh?"  queried  the  doctor,  eyeing  the  stalwart 
figure  and  tanned  face  curiously. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  around  a  bit,"  assented  Jack. 

Esther  had  risen,  but  seemed,  somehow,  as  if  she  could  not 
go  until  the  colloquy  was  over;  but  she  walked  down  the  path 
now,  and  Jack  went  and  opened  the  gate  for  her. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said,  simply. 

She  inclined  her  head — in  the  best  lady-of-the-manor  style 
— and  passed  out;  but  Jack,  undaunted,  helped  the  ladies 
into  the  jingle  and  closed  the  door  in  proper  form. 

"  What  a  singular  young  man!"  said  Miss  Worcester,  as 
they  drove  off.  "  But  he  has  behaved  remarkably  well.  I'm 
sure  it  was  shocking,  the  way  that  dreadful  horse  and  he 
struggled!  I  never  saw  such  a  thing!  For  a  common  tramp, 
he  displayed  extraordinary  heroism." 

"  I  don't  fancy  he  is  a  common  tramp,  aunt,"  said  Esther, 
thoughtfully. 

"  No?  Perhaps  you  didn't  notice  his  clothes,  my  dear 
Esther.  My  eyes  are  sharp,  and  I  am  a  particularly  observ- 
ant woman." 

Miss  Esther  had  noticed  a  great  deal  more  than  the  young 
man's  clothes;  but  she  said  nothing,  and  Miss  Worcester 
rambled  on: 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  rather  taken  by  the  poor  fel- 
low; his  manners  were  almost — almost — gentlemanly." 

"  I  think  he  was  rather — forward,"  said  Esther,  severely. 
J^  "  Yes?    Well,  perhaps  they  were.    He  is  very  good-look 


LOVE,  THT5  TYRAUT.  Jfl 

iig.  It  is  strange  how  sometimes  one  sees  a  really  high  type 
of  face  among  the  quite  common  neople.  And  his  voice — 

Esther  burst  out  laughing,  but  it  was  rather  an  impatient 
laugh. 

"  My  dear  aunt,  don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  him,  or 
th^  whole  affair  will  get  on  my  nerves,  and  you  know  what 
that  means.  Get  up,  you — you — nursery  toy!  Aunt,  do  yon 
think  you'd  be  afraid  to  ride  in  a  dog-cart? 

"  A  dog-cart!"  echoed  Miss  Worcester,  aghast.  "  My -dear 
Esther,  what  ever  put  that  into  your  head? 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Vancourt,  turning  her 
head  away  to  hide  the  blush  which  caused  her  very  much  an- 
noyance. "  I — I  just  happened  to  think  of  it.  Beally,  Toby 
is  too  ridiculous!" 

She  was  silent  after  this  condemnation  of  Toby.  Presently 
Miss  Worcester  remarked  that  they  really  were  dreadfully  late 
for  dinner. 

"  I  wonder  whether  they  will  think  to  giye  him  any?"  said 
Esther,  absenrty. 

"  Him?  Whom?"  asked  her  aunt,  £ot  reasonably  sur- 
prised. 

Esther  coloured  again. 

"  The — the  young  man,"  she  said. 

"  My  dear  Esther,  why  should  you  worry  yourself  about; 
him!  Of  course  they  will,  or  he'll  ask  for  it;  that  class  of 
people  always  do —  Why,  dear  me;  what  can  that  be!"  she 
broke  off,  staring  before  her,  in  her  near-sighted  fashion. 

They  were  jogging  up  the  avenue  by  this  time,  and  Esther, 
looking  up,  saw  a  gentleman  standing  on  the  terrace.  He 
was  in  evening-dress  and  had  the  air  of  having  bean  waiting 
for  pome  time. 

"  Looks  like  a  human  man,"  she  said,  coolly;  but  she  was 
not  without  curiosity. 

Miss  Worcester  reddened  with  conf  usion  and  nervousness. 

"  My  dear  Esther,  it  is  Mr.  Lay  ton!"  she  gasped.  Esther 
turned  to  her  quickly. 

"  But  he  does  not  come  until  to-morrow — the  seven- 
teenth," she  said. 

Miss  Worcester's  agony  was  painful  to  witness. 

"  Was  it  the  seventeenth  or  the  sixteenth?  I  thought  it 
was  the  seventeenth,' but  it  may  have  been  to-day  J  My  dear 
Esther,  what  a  dreadful  mistake!  What  shall  we  4o?" 

Esther  laughed  and  glanced  at  the  gentleman.  He  was  a 
young  man,  and  good  looking,  distinguished  looking  rather 
than  handsome,  with  a  smile  that  was  almost  too  sweet  for  a 


g§  LCWE,  THE  TTEA3ST. 

man,  but  Wmon  war  counterbalanced,  connfcerscted,  by  a 
peculiar  tidst  of  the  upper  lip. 

"  Is  it  Mr.  Lay  ton?'*  she  asked  in  a  low  roice. 

"  Yes  —  yes!  murmured  Miss  Worcester,  agitatedly. 
"  What  will  he  think,  Esther?" 

"  That  we're  late  for  dinner,  I  should  say." 

"  He — he  doesn't  look  as  if  he  were  ill-tempered  afcout  it—- 
he's smiling  so,"  said  poor  Miss  Worcester. 

"  Y-es,"  asserted  Esther,  in  a  low  voice;  "  I  wish  he 
Wouldn't." 

Meanwhile,  the  man  with  the  smile  was  saying  to  himself, 
s&  he  came  to  meet  them: 

"  So  she's  pretty,  is  she?    That  makes  it  more  difficultl"  . 

OHAPTEE  V. 

ME.  LAYTOST  stood,  hat  in  hand,  waiting  with  a  smOo  for 
the  introduction. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  Esther,"  said  Miss  Worcester, 
nervously. 

Mr.  Layton  bowed,  but  Esther  held  out  her  hand. 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Layton,"  she  said, 
"and  you  must  be  very  glad  to  see  us.  I'm  afraid  yon 
thought  you  were  not  going  to  get  any  dinner  to-day.  I  am 
eorry  we  are  so  late;  but  we  haVe  had  a  chapter — a  whole 
volume — of  accidents — " 

"  Please  don't  apologise,"  he  said  in  a  peculiarly  soft  voice 
which  had  something  caressing  in  it.  "  I  only  arrive^  a  short 
time  ago,  and  I  was  afraid  that  it  was  I  who  would  be  late." 

Miss  Worcester  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"  So  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  murmured;  "  and  we  will 
not  keep  you  a  moment  longer  than  we  can  help — will  we, 
Esther?" 

"  I  do  hope  you  will  not  hurry,"  he  responded,  with  almost 
unnecessary  earnestness.  "  The  short  time  I  have  waited  has 
been  so  pleasantly  passed  looking  at  the  glorious  view  from 
the  terrace,  and  admiring  the  front  of  this  grand  old  place." 

Now,  he  could  not  have  hit  upon  a  shorter  cut  to  Esther's 
favour,  for  she  was  already  proud  of  the  Towers,  and  praise 
of  it  was  sweet  in  her  shell-like  ears.  So  she  smiled  at  him 
for  the  first  time,  and  Selby  Layton  felt  that  he  had  said  the 
right  thing. 

"  We  will  be  vary  quick,"  said  Esther.  "Will  yon  go 
into  the  drawing-room,  or  would  you  rather  wait  here?" 

They  had  reached  the  terrace  by  this  time. 


S0v"E,  THE  TYSAOT.  '^ 

**0h,  here,  please,  if  I  may,"  he  said,  softly. 

Esther  ran  up  the  stairs,  followed  more  slowly  and  sedately 
by  Miss  Worcester,  and  Selby  Layton  looked  after  her  before 
he  turned  back  to  the  terrace. 

As  he  did  so  the  smile  faded  from  his  face,  his  well-cut  lips 
drew  together  thoughtfully,  and  his  eyes  grew  sharp. 

"  She's  more  than  pretty:  she's  beautiful — will  be  very 
much  so.  A  charming  girl;  but  no  fool,  my  dear  Selby. 
There's  a  look  in  those  grey  eyes  which — 1 — don't — alto- 
gether like.  I  shall  have  to  go  slow  and  cautiously — very 
cautiously.  What  a  place  it  is!"  He  looked  round  him 
slowly  with  a  new  expression  in  his  eyes:  the  expression 
against  which  the  commandment,  "  Thou  shalt  not  covet,** 
is  especially  applicable.  "  And  all  in  the  hands  of  a  girl — a 
girl  who  was  only  a  few  weeks  ago  giving  music-lessons  to 
tradesmen's  daughters!  The  old  man's  will  was  worse  than 
wicked:  it  was  absurd.  What  could  I  not  have  done  with 
this?  Well,  who  knows?  It's  not  too  late!" 

He  stroked  his  fair  and  carefully  cultivated  moustache  with 
a  hand  as  white  and  slim  and  as  small  as  a  woman's,  and 
lighting  a  cigarette,  leant  his  elbows  on  the  rail  and  smoked 
thoughtfully. 

In  her  eagerness  for  her  seeming  neglect  of  him,  Miss 
Worcester  was  dressed  first,  and  she  went  to  Esther's  door 
and  knocked.  Esther  knew  the  nervous,  timid  knock,  and 
said: 

"  Come  in!" 

The  maid  had  gone  down  for  a  flower  for  Esther. 

"  Ready  already,  aunt?"  she  said.  "  Sorry  to  keep  yon 
waiting;  and  it's  my  fault,  not  Marie's.  Yon  see,  I'm  not 
used  to  a  maid,  and,  as  Marie  says,  I  don't  *  keep  quiet.'  If 
I'd  stand  like  a  wooden  image  or  a  dress-block  she  would  get 
me  dressed  ever  so  much  sooner.  Poor  Marie,  I'm  afraid  I 
try  her  dreadfully." 

*  Yes,  my  dear,  I  daresay  you  do,"  said  Miss  Worcester. 
"  What — what  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Layton,  Esther?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  thought  much  about  him,  aunt," 
responded  Esther.  "  He  seems  very  gentlemanly — how  I 
hate  the  word!  It's  nearly  as  bad  as  f  respectable,'  and  if  he 
wouldn't  smile  quite  so  much  and  hadn't  quite  so  soft  a 
voice — " 

"  My  dear  Esther!  I  am  sure  he  has  an  exceedingly  pleas- 
ant smile,  not  to  say  sweet,  and  his  voice  is  very — refined — " 

"  '-Our  double  refined  oil,'  "  murmured  Esther,  quoting 
from  the  grocer's  advertisement. 


THE  TYRANT. 

— "  And  he  has  been  exceedingly  kind.  He  is  the  only 
one  of  the  family  who  lias  taken  the  least  notice  of  us!  All 
the  rest  have  been  most  unfriendly." 

"  Not  unnaturally,"  remarked  Esther. 

Indeed  it  was  not  unnatural  that  the  Vancourts  should  be 
"  unfriendly  "  to  the  young  girl  who  had  "  stepped  into  " 
the  vast  estates  and  fortune  of  Sir  Richard.  It  was  not  a 
large  family,  and  all  the  members  were  only  remote  relations. 
But  they  had  flocked  to  the  funeral  in  the  hope  of  receiving 
some  crumbs  from  the  dead  rich  man's  table,  and  had  gone 
away  bitterly  disappointed.  That  Sir  Eichard  should  leave 
everything  to  his  nephew,  Sir  John,  was  bad  enough,  but  that, 
this  nephew  having  died  out  in  Australia,  the  whole  should 
go  to  a  girl  as  distantly  connected  as  the  others,  was  infin- 
itely worse.  Some  of  them  had  maintained  a  sullen  silence, 
others  had  threatened  to  upset  the  will — much  to  Messrs. 
Floss  &  Floss's  amusement— but  only  one  had  extended  the 
hand  of  friendship  to  the  heiress. 

This  one  was  Mr.  Selby  Layton.  He  was  a  "  thirty-second 
cousin,"  or  something  of  the  sort,  to  Sir  Eichard,  and  had 
conie  down  to  the  funeral  with  so  little  expectation  of  deriving 
any  benefit  from  the  will  that  he  was  not  in  the  least  disap- 
pointed. But,  whereas  the  rest  had  departed  shaking  thb  Just 
of  the  Towers  from  their  feet,  he  had  gone  away  cheerfully  if 
thoughtfully,  and  had  written  a  letter  of  congratulation  to 
Esther,  and  had  even  called  at  the  little  house  in  the  dreary, 
dingy  street  ia  which  Esther  and  Miss  Worcester  lived. 

Esther  had  been  out  teaching  at  the  time,  and  had  not  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Selby  Layton;  but  Miss  Worcester 
had  seen  him  and  been  very  much  impressed  by  his  good 
looks,  his  pleasant  manner,  and  more  than  all  by  his  charm- 
ing smile  and  sweet  voice. 

It  was  she  who  had  suggested  that  he  should  be  asked  to 
pay  them  a  visit,  and  Esther  had  at  once  complied;  and  the 
more  readily  by  reason  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton  being  one  of  the 
relations  left  out  in  the  cold. 

She  felt  so  much  pity  for  them  that  she  was  anxious  to  do 
something  for  them,  and  would  have  been  quite  willing  to 
share,  say,  half  Sir  Eichard's  money  with  them;  but  Mr. 
iHoss,  the  senior  partner  of  the  firm,  had  his  own  ideas  on 
that  project,  and  nipped  it  in  the  bud.  But  the  desire  still 
remained  with  Esther;  and  while  her  aunt  was  singing  the 
praises  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  Esther  was  asking  herself  whether 
that  gentleman  might  not  be  able  to  help  her  in  the  matter. 

"And  I  am  sure  he  is  very  good-natured,"  said  Miss 


« 


1OVE,  THE  TYRANT.  41 

"  There  he  is  on  the  terrace  smoking  a  cigarette 
quite  contentedly,  though  we  are  dreadfully  late,  and  men  do 
so  hate  being  kept  without  their  dinner.  Don't  you  think  he 
has  a  very  distinguished  appearance,  Esther?" 

Esther  went  to  the  window  as  she  put  the  finishing  touch 
to  her  toilette,  and  looked  down  at  the  gentleman  lounging 
not  ungracefully  on  the  terrace  below. 

"  Y-es,  I  suppose  he  has,"  she  said,  absently;  then  she 
flushed  svith  a  tinge  of  shame,  for  she  had  caught  herself  com- 
paring the  elegant  figure  of  Mr.  Layton  with  that  of  the 
young  man  who  had  stopped  the  runaway  mare. 

"  And  he  looks  so  clever.  But  I  suppose  all  barristers  are 
clever,"  remarked  Miss  Worcester. 

"  1  suppose  so,"  said  Esther;  "  it's  their  only  excuse.  I 
don't  like  lawyers,  aunt,  since  I've  seen  something  of  them." 

"  But  I  don't  think  he  practises,"  said  Miss  Worcester; 
*'  in  fact,  I  think  I  remember  his  saying  so.  I  do  hope 
you'll  like  him,  my  dear." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  assented  Esther.  "  What  a  lovely 
spray,  Marie!  How  did  you  manage  to  get  it?  Mr.  Gib- 
son " — Mr.  Gibson  was  the  gardener,  retained  at  a  tremendous 
salarv  to  grow  flowers  which  he  guarded  jealously  from  the 
attacks  of  even  his  mistress — "  is  so  reluctant  to  cut  his 
flowers," 

Marie  hid  a  smile. 

"  I  told  him  that  they  were  for  yourself,  miss,"  she  said, 
"  for  you  to  wear,  and  I  coaxed  him  into  letting  me  choose 
them." 

Esther  smiled. 

"  I  must  thank  him  to-morrow  morning  when  I  go  into  the 
green-house." 

"  Thank  him  for  your  own  flowers,  Esther!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Worcester. 

"  Well,  they're  mine,  I  suppose — I  never  feel  quite  sure; 
but  I  am  sure  that  Gibson  considers  them  his.  Anyway,  he 
grows  them." 

Marie  fixed  the  spray  of  delicate  white  blossoms  in  Esther's 
dress,  and  looked  at  her  young  mistress  with  approval  and 
admiration,  for  the  graceful  figure  in  the  soft  folds  of  black 
net  which  threw  up  the  clear  pallor  of  the  beautiful  face  and 
the  deep  grey  of  the  eyes,  made  an  exquisite  picture  of  girlish 
loveliness. 

"  All  my  war-paint  on,  Marie?  Well,  then,  we'll  go  down 
and  face  our  natural  foe — Man,"  said  Esther,  smiling. 

Mr.  Layton  was  awaiting  them  in  the  drawing-room,  and 


42  LOVE,  THE 

Palmer,  the  butter,  with  a  more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger  air, 
at  once  announced  dinner.  Mr.  Layton  gave  his  arm  to  Misa 
Worcester,  and  Esther  followed  them  into  the  dining-room. 

The  daylight  was  beginning  to  wane,  and  the  candles  had 
been  lit,  and  the  soft  light  fell  pleasantly  on  the  handsome 
room  with  its  rich  but  subdued  decorations,  and  upon  the 
magnificent  plate  and  glass  for  which  the  Towers  was  as 
famous  as  for  its  pictures  and  collection  of  bric-a-brac. 

Esther,  at  the  nead  of  the  oval  table,  was  rather  silent  and 
absent-minded,  and  left  most  of  the  talking  to  Miss  Worces- 
ter, but  Mr.  Selby  Layton  was  quite  at  his  ease  and  conversed 
pleasantly  and  with  that  slow  fluency  which  obtains  in  good 
society.  Erery  now  and  then  he  glanced  at  the  young  girl, 
and  at  every  glance  his  admiration  increased.  There  was 
something  impressive  ia  the  calm  serenity  of  the  violet  eyes, 
an.  impress! veness  which  was  deepened  by  the  sudden  anima- 
tion with  which  she  roused  from  her  abstraction  and  joined  in 
the  conversation  when  it  touched  on  a  subject  which  inter- 
ested her. 

Palmer  and  his  two  footmen  waited  with  perfectly  trained 
assiduity,  and  the  dinner,  notwithstanding  its  postponement, 
was  an  admirable  one. 

When  the  dessert  had  appeared,  and  the  servants  departed, 
Esther  woke  up  to  the  duties  of  a  hostess. 

"  Would  yon  like  port  or  claret,  Mr.  Layton?"  she  said. 
"  There  are  both  here — I'll  pass  t'.em;  and  presently  you  will 
want  to  smoke,  won't  you?  All  men  smoke  after  their  meals, 
don't  they?  There  is  a  billiard-  and  smoking-room  at  the  end 
of  the  hall ;  but  you  won't  care  to  sit  there  in  solitude.  Please 
smoke  your  cigarette  here.  We  will  wait  until  you  have  lit 
your  cigarette,  because  we  like  the  scent  of  it,  don't  we, 
auntie?" 

Another  man  might  have  protested  that  he  didn't  want  to 
smoke;  but  Selby  Layton  was  too  clever  for  such  a  banality, 
and  he  took  out  his  silver  cigarette-case  presently.  Esther 
lingered  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  rose. 

"  You  will  find  your  way  to  the  drawing-room,  Mr.  Lay- 
ton?  But  please  don't  hurry.  Enjoy  your  cigarette." 

When  he  had  opened  the  door  for  them,  and  returned  to 
his  .place,  Selby  Layton  leant  back  and  smoked  in  serene  en- 
joyment; but  he  was  very  thoughtful  as  his  eyes  wandered 
round  the  magnificent  room  and  rested  on  the  pictures  and 
the  plate,  the  bronzes  and  the  antique  glass. 

"Yes,  she's  lovely,"  he  murmured,  "  and  a  lady.  Strange 
how  she  manages  to  look  and  speak  as  if  she'd  been  uaod  » 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  43 

•11  this  from  her  birth!  Scarcely  spoke  to  me  through  dinner, 
and  wasn't  even  listening  half  the  time.  Wonder  what  she 
was  thinking  of?  The  old  lady  will  be  easy  enough — soft  as 
putty — but  the  girl — !  I've  got  my  work  cut  out  for  me. 
Anyhow,  I've  got  a  fair  start.  There  can't  be  any  one  else, 
yet— and — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  turned  his  head  and 
surveyed  his  reflection  in  the  great  mirror  on  the  wall  at  his 
side. 

Esther  went  straight  to  the  piano  and  began  to  play  softly 
and  dreamily,  so  softly  that  Miss  Worcester  could  "  talk 
through  "  the  music. 

"  Remarkably  pleasant  he  seems,  Esther,"  she  said,  taking 
up  the  knitting  with  which  Esther  had  been  familiar  since  she 
was  a  child.  *'  He  is  a  barrister,  and  he  doesn't  practise. 
1  think  he  has  a  small  income  of  his  own.  And  he  moves  in 
very  good  society.  Did  you  hear  him  mention  Lady  Blan- 
kyre?" 

"  No;  I  wasn't  listening  all  the  time,"  said  Esther,  ab- 
sently. How  sternly,  almost  roughly  that  young  man,  "  the 
tramp,"  had  ordered  her  to  stand  away  from  the  mare — "  I 
was  thinking  about  something  else." 

"  You  are  so  dreamy,  my  dear  Esther,"  said  Miss  Worces- 
ter, with  gentle  rebuke;  "  I  remember  I  used  to  call  your 
attention  to  that  failing  as  a  child.  He  lives  in  rooms  in. 
Claremont  Street,  May  Fair,  and  he  is  fond  of  music  and — 
er — art  generally.  I  think  he  is  a  highly  cultivated  young 
man." 

"  Is  he?"  said  Esther.  How  quietly  "  the  tramp  "  had 
spoken  to  his  dog.  Perhaps,  if  she,  Esther,  had  been  a  dog  he 
wouldn't  have  spoken  so  roughly  to  her? 

"  Yes,  oh,  remarkably  so.  And  did  you  notice  his  hands, 
Esther?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  didn't,  aunt" 

"  They  are  really  beautiful  hands;  almost  like  a  woman's." 

"  Don't  think  I  like  small  hands  in  a  man — sign  of  weak- 
ness. Anyway,  it's  poaching  on  our  preserves,  aunt!" 

"  Nonsense,  Esther!  And  he  really  is  very  kind  and 
thoughtful.  He  has  been  making  enquiries  about  the  young 
baronet,  poor  Sir  John—  " 

Esther  stopped  her  playing,  and  looked  round  with  sudden 
interest. 

"  Yes?    Why  did  he  do  that?    What  has  he  discovered?" 

"  Discovered?  Nothing  more  than  we  know;  but  you  can 
ask  him.  Here  he  comes.  Now,  would  be  like  a  liqueur 


44  ICVE,  THE  TYBAITR 

with  his  coffee,  or  not,  Esther?    I've  heard  that  men  like*  . 
liqueur — " 

Esther  shrugged  her  shoulders, 

"  Then  I  daresay  Palmer  has  given  it  to  him." 

She  turned  as  Selby  Layton  came  in  with  the  slow  self-pos- 
session of  a  man  who  is  conscious  of  his  grace  am?  his  good 
looks. 

"  You  have  found  out  something  about  my  cousin — is  he 
my  cousin — Sir  John  Vancourt,  Mr.  Layton?"  she  said,  with 
her  characteristic  directness. 

He  went  to  the  piano  and  leant  against  it,  his  legs  crossed, 
his  head  bent,  with  a  mixture  of  ease  and  respect. 

"  I  have  been  making  some  enquiries,"  he  said;.  "  but  1 
have  discovered  little  that  is  new — very  little  beyond  what  ii 
already  known.  Sir  John — he  is  your  cousin,  hut  ever  sc 
many  times  removed — certainly  died  in  Australia.  He  was 
shot  by  bushrangers,  and  was  discovered  immediately  aftei 
his  death — his  murder — by  the  police,  who  identified  him  and 
supplied  Messrs.  Floss  &  Floss,  the  lawyers,  with  the  infoi* 
mation  and  proof." 

Esther  bent  over  the  piano  and  touched  the  keys  softly. 

"  Poor  fellow!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  To  lose  his  life 
just  as  it  had  become  worth  living!" 

Mr.  Layton  looked  down  sympathetically,  then  his  lip 
twisted;  and  Esther,  who  was  quick-eyed,  looked  at  him  en» 
quiringly. 

"  Don't  you  think  so!"  she  asked. 

Selby  Layton  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"  He  was  very  ill  with  fever — so  the  police  said — when  he 
was  shot,  and  would  not,  in  all  probability,  have  lived.  I  an 
afraid  he  had  lived  rather  a  wild  life." 

Esther's  fingers  stopped  as  if  she  were  interested. 

"  How  do  you  know  that?"  she  asked. 

"  I  met  a  man  who  had  been  out  in  the  same  parts,  and 
had  heard  of  Sir  John — Arthur  Burton,  as  he  called  himsell 
— and  my  informant  told  me  that  Arthur  Burton  was  one  of 
the  maddest  of  the  mad,  that  all  sorts  of  stories  were  told  of 
him.  A  sort  of  desperado,  I  gathered.  He  had  for  compan- 
ion— *  chum,'  they  call  it—a  man  as  reckless  and  wild  at 
himself.  I  suppose  it  was  the  man  who  was  with  him  when 
he  was  killed." 

"  What  was  his  name — this  *  chum  '  of  Arthur  Burton's— 
it  is  so  difficult  to  remember  that  he  was  Sir  John  V«mcourV 
Esther  said,  thoughtfully. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Selby  Layton.    "  ijy  inforoiaa» 


LOVE,  THE  TTRA2fT.  45 

—the  maa  who  told  me  all  this— did  not  know  his  name;  and 
afcrange  to  say,  the  police,  in  their  information,  failed  to  give 
it.  Either  they  did  not  know  it,  or  they  had  forgotten  it." 

"  What  became  of  him — this  other  man?"  asked  Esther, 
musingly.  "  I  should  like  to  see  him,  to  hear  all  about  Sir 
John." 

Selbv  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  He  disappeared  rather  suddenly,  and  could  not  be  found, 
though  the  police  wanted  his  evidence  in  the  case.  .iTher 
searched  for  him,  but  could  not  trace  him.  I  imagine  it  la 
easy  for  a  man  to  hide  himself  out  there;  there  are  plenty  of 
persons  wimng  to  aid  him  in  escaping,  disappearing." 

Esther's  brows  came  together. 

"  Why  should  he  want  to  disappear — escape?"  she  mur- 
mured, more'lohsiaelf  than  to  Mr.  Layton. 

He  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

"  No  doubt  he  had  sufficient  reasons,"  he  said.  "  But  he 
is  of  no  importance — " 

— "  He  was  Sir  John's  friend  and  companion — was  present 
fit  his  death,"  said  Esther  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes;  just  so!"  murmured  Mr.  Layton,  sympa- 
thetically. "  I  know  that  there  was  plenty  of  proof  of  Sir 
John's  death  without  the  missing  man's  evidence.  There  is 
no  question  as  to  your  right  of  possession,  Miss  Vaucourt." 

"  No;  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Esther,  with  a  sigh.  "  Is  thafc 
all  7ou  heard,  Mr.  Layton." 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  as  if  ho 
were  thinking.  "  I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear  it." 

"  Thank  you,  yes.  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you.  I  won- 
der whether  I  could  ask  you  to  add  to  the  obligation?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  sweet  gravity,  and  Selby  Lay- 
ton's  eyes  sparkled.  There  was  nothing  he  desired  more  than. 
to  place  the  heiress  of  Vancourt  Towers  under  a  real  or  sup- 
posed obligation  to  him. 

**  I  should  be  greatly  honoured  and  greatly  pleased  if  I 
could  be  of  the  slightest  service  to  you,  Miss  Vancourfc,"  he* 
said,  with  just  the  proper  amount  of  eagerness. 

Esther  hesitated  a  moment  or  two,  touching  the  keys  too 
softly  to  produce  any  sound. 

"  As  you  know,  Mr.  Layton,"  she  said  at  last,  and  with  a 
faint  touch  of  colour  in  her  face,  "  I  have  inherited — have 
got — the  whole — everything  that  was  Sir  Richard's — the  land 
and  the  house  and  the  money." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  simply.  "  And  I  am  sore  it  oould  not 
ha?e  fallen  into  better  hands." 


46  LOVE,   THE  TYRANT. 

"  And  I  think  it  could  scarcely  have  fallen  into  worse!"  said 
Esther,  flashing.  "  A  young  girl,  unaccustomed  to  wealth-— 
But  we  won't  argne  that;  you  would  stick  to  your  assertion 
for  the  sake  of  politeness — what  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  I 
wanted  to  share  some  of  the  money  with  the  other  relations." 

Mr.  Layton  inclined  his  head. 

"  All  distant  ones,"  he  murmured,  "  so  remote  that  there 
is  actually  no  one  to  succeed  to  the  baronetcy,  and  it  is  there- 
fore extinct." 

"  They  are  not  more  remote  than  I  am,"  said  Esther, 
"  and  they  have  a  right  to  feel  disappointed  and  neglected. 
Now,  I  want  to — to  make  it  up  to  them  a  little." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  murmured.     "  The  lawyer,  Mr.  Floss — " 

— "  Won't  hear  of  it,"  she  said,  "  and  I  "—-she  laughed— 
"  am  terribly  afraid  of  that  old  man." 

Mr.  Layton  smiled. 

"  He  is  rather  fearsome,"  he  admitted. 

Esther  laughed  again. 

"  He  has  a  way  of  knitting  his  brows  and  saying  *  Tnt, 
tut!'  which  fills  my  soul  with  awe.  He  knit  his  brows  very 
much,  and  said  l  Tut,  tut!'  four  distinct  times  when  I  told 
him  what  I  wanted  to  do.  He  said  I  was  too  young,  that  I 
had  no  right  to  play  the  part  of  a  female  Quixote,  and,  im 
short,  browbeat  me.  But  I  have  a  large  income,  have  I 
not?" 

"  Very;  one  might,  without  exaggerating,  call  it  im- 
mense," said  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  with  a  soft  smile,  but  sup- 
pressing a  sigh  of  envy. 

"  Very  well,  then;  why  shouldn't  I  devote  half  of  it  to — to 
the  others  who  were  left  nothing?" 

Mr.  Selby  Layton  was  filled  with  horror  at  the  idea,  for  to 
him  such  a  proposal  seemed  absolutely  wicked. 

"  If  you  could  afford  it,"  he  said,  thoughtfully. 

"  Afford  it! — just  now  you  said  my  income  was  immense," 
remarked  Esther. 

"  Ah,  yes;  but  so  also  is  the  estate,  and  it  will  take  a  large 
sum  of  money  to  keep  it  going." 

Esther  sighed  and  laughed  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

"  You  are  almost  as  bad  as  Mr.  Floss!"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  not  quite,  I  hope,"  he  said,  with  his  sweet  smile. 
"  I  was  merely  suggesting  that  a  half  is  a  large  amount — pos- 
sibly too  large." 

"  Well,  then,  a  third,  a  quarter — what  I  can  afford!"  said 
Esther,  impatiently.  "  I  thought  you  would  help  me  to  do 
this  without  Mr.  Floss  knowing  anything  about  it*  I  suppose 


LOVE,   THE  TYRANT.  47 

I  can  spend  xriis  money  how  I  please,  if  I  keep  up  the  estate 
properly?" 

"  Certainly!"  he  said.  "  And  I  shall  be  more  than  glad  to 
help  you.  Need  I  say  that  I  am  also  proud  of  your  confi- 
dence, Miss  Vancourt?" 

His  voice  was  as  soft  as  the  note  of  a  flute,  and  he  bent  for- 
ward with  a  smile  sweeter  than  ever. 

Esther  nodded. 

"It's  very  good  of  you.  I  am  afraid  it  will  give  you  a 
great  deal  of  trouble — I  haven't  realised  yet  how  much,  foi 
the  idea  has  only  just  come  into  my  head.  But  I  thought 
you  would  be  able  to  find  out  which  of  them  were  in  need  of 
— of  money,  assistance — you  know  them,  perhaps;  I  don't, 
you  see." 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  don't,"  he  said.  "  I  have  lived 
apart,  they  are  so  scattered —  But  I  will  find  out,  and  make 
a  list,  on  one  condition.  Miss  Vancourt." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Esther,  looking  tip  quickly. 

"  That  you  except  one  person." 

"  Yes?"  she  said,  curiously.     "  Who  is  that?" 

"  Selby  Layton,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Esther  coloured.. 

"  What  must  you  think  of  me?  It  was  as  if  I  had  been 
offering  you  money!"  she  said,  quickly.  "  But  I  didn't  even 
know  that  you  were  poor." 

He  laughed  with  an  admirable  assumption  of  frankness. 

"  I  am  as  poor  as  the  proverbial  church  mouse,"  he  said, 
lightly.  "  I  trust  I  am  also  honest,  but  certainly  I  am  proud. 
So  exclude  Sslby  Layton  from  the  list:  that  is  agreed?" 

Esther  inclined  her  head.  She  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  she  looked  up. 

"  This  must  be  a  secret  between  us,  please,  Mr.  Layton.  I 
do  not  wish  any  one  to  know  of  my  idea." 

She  glanced  at  Miss  Worcester,  nodding  over  her  knitting, 
and  Selby  Layton,  with  inward  exultation,  bowed. 

"  Yes,  yes;  I  quite  understand,"  he  murmured.  "  Yon 
may  trust  me.  I  think  I  know  exactly  what  you  want:  To 
benefit  those  of  the  family  who  need  assistance  without  letting 
them  know  from  whence  it  comes." 

Esther  nodded. 

"  That  is  it  exactly!"  she  said,  quickly,  and  in  as  low  a 
voice.  "  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Layton." 

"  The  gratitude  is  on  my  side — for  your  trust  and  confi- 
dence in  me,"  he  said,  very  sweetly. 

Esther  threw  her  head  back  with  an  air  of  relief. 


48  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  Do  you  care  for  music?"  she  asked.  "  If  so,  I  will  p'% 
to  you.  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  very  dull  and  slow  here. ' ' 

She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  protest,  but  began  to  play. 

He  went  to  a  chair,  and  leant  back,  and  begged  her  to 
play  again;  and  she  was  about  to  do  so,  when  she  said,  as  if 
she  had  suddenly  thought  of  it: 

"  Perhaps  you  play  or  sing?    Pray  do  so,  if  you  do." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  apologetically,  and  hesitated, 
but  got  up  at  last  and  went  to  the  piano. 

There  were  many  persons  who  disliked,  not  to  say  hated, 
Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton;  but  no  one  had  ever  possessed  the  temerity 
to  deny  that  he  was  a  musician. 

Esther  had  moved  away  from  the  piano,  expecting  the  kind 
of  performance  on  the  piano  which  men  generally  treat  us  to; 
but  as  Selby  Layton  struck  the  first  chords  of  an  accompani- 
ment, she  turned  her  head  with  a  sharp  and  sudden  surprise 
and  interest;  and  as  the  song  progressed,  her  eyes  began  to 
deepen  to  a  violet  hue;  for  the  man  not  only  had  an  exquisite 
voice,  but  played  and  sang  like  an  artist.  And  with  Esther 
music  was  a  passion. 

Miss  Worcester,  roused  and  startled,  raised  her  eyebrows 
and  whispered: 

"  My  dear  Esther,  what  a  beautiful  voice!" 

But  Esther  paid  no  heed.  The  "  beautiful  voice  "  was 
holding  her  in  thrall.  The  notes  were  rich  and  liquid,  and 
the  phrasing  perfect.  Mr.  Selby  Layton  at,  and  away  from, 
the  piano,  were  two  different  persons.  The  colour  stole  into 
Esther's  face,  her  eyelids  drooped,  and  her  bosom  hsaved 
slowly,  and  every  fibre  of  her  being  responded  to  the  flood  of 
melody  which  floated,  now  soft  and  tender,  now  deep(and  sol- 
emn, through  the  large  room. 

Mr.  Selby  Layton  appeared — appeared — (juite  unconscious 
of  the  effect  he  was  producing,  and  sang  quite  easily,  looking 
before  him  as  if  he  were  trying  to  remember  the  words  of  the 
song,  and  as  if  he  were  doing  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world. 

When  the  exquisite  notes  of  the  finale  had  died  away, 
Esther  went  straight  up  to  the  piano. 

"  Why  didn't  yon  say  you  sang  like — like  a  Sims  Reeves?" 
she  said. 

Selby  Layton  looked  up  at  her  wth  the  sweet  smile  and  a 
little  air  of  surprise. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  Sims  Reeves  can't  hear  you,  Miss  Van- 
court.  He'd  be  almost  as  shocked  as  I  am,"  he  said.  "  But 
I'm  glad  you  liked  the  song,"  he  added,  as  be  rost. 


THE  TYBAOT.  49 

"Don't  thiiut  of  getting  up!*'  she  said,  almost  imperi- 
ously. "  You  ought  to  be  chained  to  a  piano." 

"  Rather  like  a  monkey,"  he  retorted,  with  a  pleasant 
lau^h;  but  he  resumed  his  seat  and  sang  again. 

This  time  it  was  just  a  simple  ballad;  but  what  a  ballad 
Mr.  Selby  Layton  made  of  it!  The  tears  were  not  far  from 
Esther's  eyes  as  she  listened. 

"  You'd  make  a  fortune  on  the  stage,"  she  said  in  her 
abrupt  fashion. 

He  smiled  a  modest  repudiation. 

"  Oh,  no;  I  assure  you  not!  There  are  thousands  of  bet- 
ter voices." 

Esther  shook  her  head. 

*'  I  know.  I  " — with  mock  consequence — ''  taught  masicfe 
you  know." 

He  was  hunting  amongst  the  music  and  held  up  a  song. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  great  favour?" 

Bir  Esther  shook  her  head. 

"  I'd  rather  not." 

He  turned  over  the  music  again  and  found  a  duet. 

"  Then,  will  you  siug  this  with  me?"  he  asked,  very 
sweetly. 

Esther  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  went  reluctantly  to  the 
piano.  The  duet  went  well,  but  Esther  noiiced  that  Mr. 
Selby  Layton  artfully — in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word-- 
subordinated his  voice  to  hers  throughout  the  whole  of  it. 

"  You  are  nursing  me,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  No,  I  won't 
sin?  again:  I  think  I'm  tired." 

M.-ss  Worcester  rose  and  rolled  up  her  knitting. 

"  You  know  your  room,  Mr.  Layton.  I  hope  everything  is 
comfortable." 

He  bowed  and  accompanied  them  to  the  hall,  and  Esther 
pointed  to  the  door  of  the  billiard -room. 

"  You  will  find  there  the  things  the  soul  of  a  man  loveth 
before  he  goes  to  bed,  Mr.  Layton,"  she  said,  as  she  wished 
him  good-night. 

Mr.  Selby  Layton  held  the  small,  warm  hand,  and  would 
have  liked  to  press  it,  bat  there  was  something  in  the  calm 
gaze  of  the  lovely  grey  eyes  which  checked  him. 

But  he  went  off  to  the  billiard-room  very  well  pleased  with 
himself;  and  as  he  mixed  a  glass  of  soda  and  whiskey,  and  lit 
one  of  the  choice  Havanas  which  Sir  Richard  had  left,  with 
the  rest  of  his  worldly  goods,  to  Miss  Esther  Vancourt,  he 
smiled  complacently. 

"  Not  bad  lor  one  night.    I'm  in  her  confidence  and 


50  LOVE,   THE  TTBANT. 

charged  with  a  secret  mission :  and  my  voice  did  its  little  part. 
Not  bad  by  any  means.  How  beautiful  she  is!  I've  always 
had  a  fancy  for  a  good-looking  wife.  This  girl  satisfies  my 
artistic  sense."  He  looked  round  the  room  critically.  "  All 
very  good,  excepting  the  frieze:  I  should  alter  that!'* 

When  Esther  had  almost  driven  her  aunt  out  of  her  room, 
she  stood  in  a  dressing-gown  before  the  glass  humming  softly 
the  notes  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton's  ballad,  and  thinking  of  the 
scheme  for  benefiting  Sir  Richard's  poor  relations;  but  sud- 
denly her  mind  switched  off,  and  with  a  start  she  remembered 
the  stalwart  young  man  of  whom  she  had  seen  so  much  that 
day.  She  went  to  the  window  and  drew  the  curtain  back  a 
little  and  looked  out.  She  could  see  the  roof  of  the  home- 
farm  quite  plainly  in  the  moonlight,  and  she  stood  and  looked 
at  it  dreamily  for  a  minute  or  two;  then,  with  a  sudden  gest- 
ure of  impatience,  she  let  the  curtain  fall  back  to  its  place, 
and  turned  away,  as  if  she  were  annoyed  at  herself  for  think- 
ing of  him. 

But  when  she  had  fallen  asleep,  the  tall  figure,  the  tanned 
face,  the  deep  musical  voice  with  its  masterful  tone,  haunted 
her  in  her  dreams. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  Esther  and  Miss  Worcester  had  driven  away,  Jack 
stood  at  the  gate  and  looked  after  them  with  anything  but  a 
pleased  expression  of  countenance.  For  though  he  had  ob- 
tained employment,  it  was  at  the  last  place  he  would  have 
chosen. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  give  tip  his  estates  to  a  young  lady, 
but  he  had  not  calculated  upon  having  to  spend  some  time  in 
looking  on  while  that  young  lady  ruled  over  his  land  and 
spent  his  money* 

"  But  it's  all  in  the  day's  work,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  It's  for  her  brother's  sake — the  brother  who  gave  his  life 
for  me.  But  it's  been  a  queer  performance  to-day,  all 
through!  I  wonder  whether  there's  a  scene  in  which  dinner 
comes  in,  for  I'm  precious  hungry." 

At  that  moment,  as  if  she  had  read  his  thoughts,  Mrs. 
Martin  came  to  the'door  and  timidly  called  him  in,  and  Jack 
found  a  substantial  meal  awaiting  him. 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  hungry,"  she  said,  apologetically. 

"  Mrs.  Martin,  you  have  just  saved  my  life,  but  it's  by  the 
narrowest  squeak!"  said  Jack,  as  he  sat  down  and  fell  to. 
"  I  omght  to  be  used  to  feeling  half  famished,  for  there  hav« 


LOVE,  THJE  TYSAUT.  51 

been  days  In  my  life  when  everything  has  occurred  but  mealc. 
You  don't  mind  my  giving  Bob  this  bone?  He's  a  perfect 
gentleman  and  will  take  it  on  the  mat." 

Mrs.  Martin  shook  her  head. 

"•  I'm  glad  you're  going  to  stay,  Mr. — " 

She  hesitated. 

"  Gordon — Jack  Gordon,"  said  Jack,  helping  himself  to  a 
dice  of  the  home-cured  ham. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  if  you  hadn't 
come  as  you  did.  It's  Providence,  I  suppose." 

Jack  thought  that  market-day  and  whiskey  had  something 
to  do  with  it,  but  didn't  say  so. 

"  Our  last  foreman  looked  after  the  farm  almost  entirely; 
for  Martin — " 

She  paused  again;  but  Jack  understood. 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  Mrs.  Martin,"  he  said.  "  But  Martin 
must  please  make  allowance  for  my  short-comings.  I  think 
I  can  say  I  understand  farming.  It  was  very  good  of  Miss 
Vancourt  to  recommend  me — and  on  such  slight  acquaint- 
ance. It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  all  very  confiding:  for 
how  do  you  know  I  sha'n't  murder  you  all  in  your  beds  and 
bolt  off  with  the — the  spoons?" 

Mrs.  Martin  smiled,  and  did  not  appear  to  think  the  ques- 
tion required  an  answer.  _^at 

"  She  is  a  very  kind  young  lady,"  she  said.  "Poor 
thing!" 

Jack  looked  up  from  the  plate. 

"  Poor  thing!" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  with  a  sigh.  "  She  is  quite  a 
girl,  to  have  so  much  money  and  responsibilities  laid  upom 
her." 

"  Oh,  she'll  bear  up  under  it,  you'll  see,"  said  Jack,  cheer- 
fully, thinking  how  well  he  could  have  endured  the  weight  of 
Vancourt  Towers  and  Sir  Richard's  untold  thousands.  "  And 
now,  as,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  cannot  eat  any  more,  I  think  I 
will  go  round  the  farm,  if  I  may." 

"  I'll  call  Georgie,  and  he'll  show  you,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 
"  He'll  show  you  the  foreman's  cottage.  You  can  sleep  there 
— there  isn't  room  here — but  you  may  have  your  meals  here, 
for  a  time,  at  any  rate.  I  hope  you  will  be  comfortable." 

Jack  laughed  easily. 

"I've  slept  in  the  open  too  often,  and  not  in  the  best  of 
weather,  to  be  very  particular;  and  I  expected  nothing  better 
than  a  shake-down  in  a  hay-loft,  where  Bob  and  I  have  slept 
several  times,  and  like  tops." 


52  LOVE,  THE  TYBAUT. 

He  lit  his  pipe  —  asking  permission  first,  Mrs.  Martin  no- 
ticed —  and  went  out,  followed  by  Bob.  As  his  firm  step 
sounded  on  the  sanded  floor,  Nettie's  voice  called  out  in  a 
thin  treble: 

"  Is  'oo  coming  back?" 

"  Yes,"  he  called  back.  "  My  name  is  Bad  Penny. 
Didn't  you  know  that?  You  go  to  sleep." 

With  the  gaping  Georgie  at  his  s  ide,  Jack  went  round  a 
portion  of  the  farm.  The  late  foreman  was  supposed  to  have 
"  seen  to  it  entirely;"  but  he  had  seen  to  it  very  badly. 
Jack's  keen  eye  detected  bad  management  and  waste  in  every 
direction. 

"  And  they  wonder  why  farming  doesn't  pay  in  England/" 
he  said  to  Bob,  but  in  too  low  a  voice  for  Georgie  to  hea^, 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  Miss  Vancourt's  butter  and 
eggs  cost  her.  Half  a  crown  a  pound,  and  five  shillings  a 
dozen,  I  should  say.  Well,  we'll  try  and  alter  it  a  bit,  old 
man;  and  much  thanks  we'll  get  for  it!  No  matter;  directly 
our  friend  Martin  is  well  enough  to  get  about,  we'll  bolt." 

They  came  to  the  cottage  presently  —  it  was  some  distance 
from  the  lodge  —  and  Jack  found  it  to  be  a  pretty  little  box  of 
a  place  with  three  tiny  rooms,  a  thatched  roof,  and  a  rough 
little  garden  from  which  the  clematis  clambered  over  the 
walls  and  round  the  small  windows.  Jack  thought  of  the 
hideously  ugly  shepherd's  hut  "  out  on  the  other  side,"  ani 
looked  at  the  cottage  admiringly,  and  sighed.  He  went  in, 
A  farm-girl  had  lit  a  fire,  and  the  two  rooms  —  the  sitting-  and 
the  bed-room  —  looked  cosy. 

"  We've  fallen  in  a  soft  place,  Bob!"  he  said.  "  It's  al- 
most a  pity  it  isn't  a  permanent  one.  Open  all  the  windows, 
there's  a  good  girl,"  he  said  to  the  maid.  "  I'm  very  deli- 
cate, and  the  doctor  says  I  am  to  have  plenty  of  air." 

She  gaped  with  eyes  and  mouth  at  the  stalwart  figure,  and 
smiled  as  she  did  as  she  was  bid. 

Jack  resumed  his  tour  of  inspection.  He  learnt  from 
Georgie  that  any  number  of  "  hands  "  could  be  got  from  the 
estate,  and  told  him  to  hunt  up  a  couple  and  have  them  there 
next  morning. 

"  They  won't  need  to  bring  a  broom,  Georgie,"  he  said; 
"  they'll  find  one  here,  and  he's  going  to  sweep  clean." 

Georgie's  mouth  yawned  like  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  his  eyes 
nearly  dropped  out;  for  he  began  to  suspect  that  the  new 
foreman  was  mad;  for  there  wasn't  a  broom  anywhere  near 


Jack  got  back  to  the  i*rm  lodge  by  supper-time.     Martin 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  53 

Asleep,  but  Nettie  was  awake,  and  after  **,  aad  satisfied 
his  exl  -emely  healthy  hunger,  he  smoked  a  pipe,  and  talked 
to  Mrs.  Martin  about  the  farm. 

"  I'm  going  to  go  on  without  worrying  Martin,"  he  said. 
"  That  will  be  all  right,  I  suppose?" 

Mrs.  Martin  assented  thankfully. 

"  He  does  just  what  he  likes,"  she  said,  "  Miss  Vancourt 
never  interferes  or  asks  any  questions." 

"  Singular  young  lady!"  said  Jack.  "  Is  that  Nettie  I 
hear  in  there?  Would  there  be  any  objection  to  my  bidding 
her  good-night?" 

He  went  in  to  the  child,  who  had  been  lying  listening  to 
him,  and  greeted  him  with  her  eager,  brilliant  eyes. 

*'*  What  did  you  say  you  name  was?"  she  asked. 

"  I  said  Bad  Penny,  because  I'd  come  back  to  yon,  yoa 
know.  But  I'm  called  Jack  Gordon." 

"  I  like  '  Jack,7  "  she  said. 

"It's  lucky  there  are  two  names  to  choose  from,  isn't  it?*' 
he  said,  with  that  twinkle  in  his  eyes  which  children  love. 

She  laughed. 

"  And  1  like  'oo.  I  wish  'oo'd  sit  here  beside  me  and  talk 
to  me  all  night.  Do  'oo  know  any  stories?" 

"  Heaps!"  said  Jack.  "  You  lie  down  and  close  your  eyes 
—yon  can't  hear  a  story  properly  unless  you  do;  fact!  And 
I'll  tell  you  one." 

He  dropped  his  voice  after  a  time,  and  when  she  had  fallen 
asleep,  kissed  her  and  stole  out.  Mrs.  Martin  had  been 
watching  him  with  a  mother's  gratitude. 

"  You — you  are  a  good  man,"  she  said,  timidly,  "  I 
don't  wonder  the  child  takes  to  you!" 

Jack  went  off  to  his  cottage  with  these  words  in  his  ears; 
of  course  feeling  ashamed  of  himself,  as  a  man  always  does 
when  a  woman  tells  him  he  is  good.  Half-way  to  the  cottage, 
he  stopped  and  looked  round  him.  He  was  not  a  bit  sleepy, 
and  he  felt  a  desire  to  have  a  look  at  the  Towers  by  moon- 
light. He  fought  with  the  desire  for  a  moment  or  two,  but 
it  overcame  him,  and,  vaulting  the  low  park  fence,  he 
strolled  slowly  across  towards  the  house.  The  light  shining 
through  the  windows  struggled  with  the  moonlight  streaming 
upon  the  old  place;  it  looked  weirdly  beautiful  in  the  night, 
and  Jack,  sauntering  on  absently,  felt  a  strange  wistfulness 
» creeping  over  him.  This  grand  old  place  was  his!  Oh,  no, 
it  wasn't!  It  was  Miss  Esther  Vanconrt's. 

He  was  turning  away  with  a  sigh,  when  .he  beard  the 


54  LOVE,  THE  TYBA1TB. 

strains  of  a  piano,  and  then  a  man's  voice  singing.  He  leant 
against  the  terrace,  in  the  shadow,  and  listened. 

"  Fine  voice;  sings  like  a  fellow  at  the  opera.  Wonder 
who  he  is?" 

There  was  a  pause,  then  he  heard  the  two  voices. 

"  That's  Miss  Vancourt's,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I'm 
sure  of  it,  though  I  don't  know  why.  Like  it  better  than  th$ 
other." 

Presently  the  wistfulness  grew  into  a  melancholy.  He  felt 
like  an  outcast,  out  there  in  the  night  listening  to  other  peo- 
ple's voices  singing  hi  his  house. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  go  to  bed,  old  man,"  he  said  to  Bob, 
who  had  curled  himself  up  at  his  master's  feet,  but  was  list- 
ening and  watching  for  the  slightest  movement.  "  Don't 
you  bark  or  make  any  kind  of  a  row,  Bob,  for  we're  tres- 
passing. Trespassing!  Oh,  my  goodness;  if  it  wasn't  so 
beastly  serious  it  would  be  amusing!" 

Ke  waited  until  the  duet  was  finished,  then  he  went  off  to 
bed. 

He  fell  asleep  at  once,  Bob  lying  beside  the  bed;  but  sud- 
denly, in  the  middle  of  the  night,  Bob  sprang  up  and  whined, 
for  his  master  had  started  up  and  with  outstretched  handy 
and  eyes  that  looked  upon  a  vision,  cried: 

"  No,  no,  old  man!  I'll  keep  my  promise!  The  little 
sister's  all  right.  I'll  keep  my  promise;  I  won't  take  it  away 
from  her,  old  fellow!  Ah,  God!  he's  dead!" 

The  whine  of  the  dog  waked  him,  and  he  looked  round. 
The  sweat  was  on  his  brow,  and  he  was  shaking  as  he  had 
shaken  that  night  his  chum  had  fallen  at  his  feet. 

"  All  right,  Bob!"  he  said,  his  voice  shaking  too.  "  Only 
a  dream.  Lie  down;  it's  all  right!" 


CHAPTER  VIL 

JACK  woke  in  the  morning,  fresh  as  paint,  notwithstanding 
his  dream.  But  it  had  left  an  impression  behind,  as  some 
dreams  have  a  knack  of  doing.  If  he  had  at  any  time  wav- 
ered in  his  resolution  to  sacrifice  himself  for  his  for  his  dead 
chum's  sister,  the  vision  of  the  night  had  confirmed  his  dtter- 
mination. 

•'  No  need  to  haunt  me  again,  old  man!"  he  said.  "  HI 
stand  by  my  word!" 

Early  in  the  morning  he  visited  an  outlying  part  of  the 
farm,  and  found  things  in  anything  bat  a  satisfactory  state; 


LOVB,  THE  TYRANT.  55 

and  having  set  George  and  the  men  to  work,  he  went  to  the 
lodge  to  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  looking  ont  for  him,  and  welcomed  him 
E3  the  timid  woman  welcomes  the  strong  man  upon  whom  she 
is  beginning  to  rely,  and  Nettie  hearing  his  steps,  called  out 
a  piping: 

"  Is  that  'oo,  Mr.  Jack?  Are  'oo  coming  to  say  good- 
morning?" 

"  Not  till  I've  had  something  to  eat,"  Jack  called  back, 
"  It  wouldn't  be  safe.  I  once  ate  up  a  little  girl — just  about 
your  size — because  I  happened  to  come  across  her  when  I  was 
nungry — and  not  half  as  hungry  as  I  am  now." 

"  Martin's  been  worrying,"  said  Mrs.  Martha.  "  He  wants 
to  see  you." 

Jack  nodded. 

"  There's  nothing  to  worry  about;  I'll  put  his  mind  at 
rest  presently." 

He  ate  his  breakfast  and  went  up  to  the  now  thoroughly 
sober  and  remorseful  farmer. 

"  I've  come  to  report,"  he  said,  seating  himself  on  the 
bed.  "  Better  lie  down.  Leg  painful,  of  course?  Strange 
how  keenly  a  leg  resent  being  broken:  you  may  bend  it  as 
much  as  you  like,  but  you  mustn't  break  it.  Oh,  yes,  I've 
been  round  the  farm.  What  do  I  think  of  it?  Well,  ahem!" 

"  There's  that  four  acre  wants  hoeing,"  commenced  Mar- 
tin, fretfully  and  apologetically.  "  It  ought  to  have  been 
done  before;  bub  I've  been  that  short-handed — " 

"  I've  set  George  and  a  couple  of  scarecrows — they  call 
themselves  hands,  I  daresay — upon  it." 

"  And  there's  that  field  on  the  side  of  the  hill — " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Best  bit  of  land  you've  got,  I  should  say; 
but  it's  surrounded  by  trees.  You  can't  expect  to  get  a 
crop — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  you're  right!"  cut  in  Martin.  "  I  know  that, 
of  course!  But  what  can  I  do?  Sir  Richard  wouldn't  have  a 
tree  cut  do\vn  to  save  my  life,  leave  alone  a  crop." 

*'  But  Sir  Richard  has  gone  where  I  hope  his  love  of  timber 
Will  be  gratified,"  said  Jack.  "  Miss  Vancourt  is  mistress 
now,  and  she  may  not  be  so  fond  of  'em." 

"  True,"  assented  Martin;  "but  I  haven't  had  time  to  ask 
her." 

"  It  wouldn't  take  five  minutes,"  remarked  Jack. 

"  And  I  don't  like  mentioning  the  subject,"  said  Martin. 
"  Sir  Richard,  he  allus  swore  at  me  if  I  as  much  as  mentioned 


56  LOVE,  THE  TYRAKT. 

"  And  you  think  his  niece  might  do  the  same?  Well,  I'm 
not  afraid  of  a  swear  word  or  two,  and  I'll  ask  her,  if  you 
like." 

Martin  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"  I  wish  you  would.  Tell  her  I  sent  you,  and  she'll  treab 
yon  civil,  I'm  sure." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Jack.  "I'll  go  at  once.  The  trees  most 
come  down  if  that  field  is  to  be  saved.  And  now,  don't  you 
worry.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

Martin  looked  rather  uncomfortable. 

"  There  was  a  bottle  with  some  very  old  and  special  whis- 
key— you  remember?  I'm  thinking  that  a  little  drop  would 
do  me  good — " 

"  Sorry,"  said  Jack,  calmly.  "But  I  disposed  of  it  all 
last  night." 

Martin  stared  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  regret  and  admira- 
tion. 

"  Yon  must  have  a  good  head,  mister,"  he  said,  ruefully. 

"  So,  so,"  said  Jack.  "  But  whiskey's  been  my  favourite 
drink  since  a  boy:  that's  what's  made  me  what  I  am— -a  fore- 
man on  the  Vancourt  home  farm.  No,  my  dear  Martin,  you 
will  have  to  try  a  new  drink  while  you're  nursing  that  leg. 
You'll  find  it  strange  at  first,  but  you'll  get  to  like  it  after  a 
bit." 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Martin,  doubtfully. 

"  Water!"  said  Jack,  with  a  grin;  and  as  he  left  the  room 
he  heard  Martin  sigh  heavily. 

After  an  interview  with  Nettie,  he  and  Bob  set  out  for  the 
Towers.  The  place  had  looked  poetic  and  picturesque  in  the 
moonlight,  but  in  the  bright  sunlight  of  the  spring  morning 
it  looked  superb  and  imposing.  Jack  eyed  it  gravely  as  he 
approached  the  terrace,  but  he  did  not  even  sigh;  his  dream 
rose  to  his  mind  and  crushed  out  any  sense  of  covetousness. 
He  had  relinquished  his  possessions  once  and  for  all,  and  there 
was  an  end  of  it. 

Palmer,  the  butler,  met  him  at  the  door,  and  when  Jack, 
in  his  cool,  self-possessed  way,  asked  for  Miss  Vancourt,  eyed 
him  curiously  and  rather  doubtfully. 

"  Tell  Miss  Vanconrt  the  foreman  of  the  farm  would  be 
obliged  it  she  could  see  him,"  said  Jack. 

Palmer's  look  of  curiosity  increased.  He  had  a  large 
acquaintance  with  farmers  and  their  men,  but  none  of  them 
had  looked  like  this  stalwart  young  fellow,  or  been  so  much 
Ot  their  eaM» 


LOVE,  THE  TTBAST.  57 

"  If  you'll  step  into  the  library,  FU  tell  Miss  Vancourt, " 
he  said. 

Jack  nodded,  and  remembering  the  room,  walked  straight 
into  it.  Palmer  was  rather  surprised,  and  still  more  so  when 
the  foreman  of  the  home  farm  went  to  the  window  and  looked 
out,  "  as  if  the  place  belonged  to  him,"  as  Palmer  remarked 
afterwards  in  the  servants'  hall. 

Jack,  when  he  had  studied  the  view  and  tried  to  remember 
some  of  the  points,  turned  to  the  room.  One  of  the  Van* 
courts  had  been  a  bibliomaniac,  and  had  got  together  a  very 
fine  collection  of  books,  and  Jack  walked  round  the  cases  and 
read  some  of  the  titles  of  the  rare  volumes  of  whose  worth  he 
had  little  idea.  Then  as  he  glanced  about  him,  he  caught 
eight  of  a  glove  lying  on  the  writing-table.  It  was  a  woman's 
glove:  Suede;  size,  six  and  a  half. 

He  took  it  up  and  held  it  in  his  brown  palm,  and  gazed  at 
it  absently.  It  was  a  wee,  soft  thing,  and  like  the  voice  of 
the  dream,  seemed  to  plead  for  its  owner.  He  had  barely 
time  to  drop  it  when  Palmer  entered. 

"  Miss  Vancourt  is  out  of  the  house,"  he  said. 

"  Oh!    Where  is  she?    Do  you  know?" 

Palmer  felt  inclined  to  resent  the  excessive  coolness  of  this 
young  man  in  the  worn  cord  suit,  and  answered,  rather  stiffly: 

"  Miss  Vancourt  may  be  in  the  garden;  on  the  other 
hand—" 

— "  She  may  not,"  said  Jack,  cheerfully.  "  I'll  see  if  I 
can  find  her:"  and  out  he  strode,  followed  by  Bob,  who  had 
been  told  to  wait  on  the  terrace.  As  he  passed  out,  one  of 
the  maid-servants  crossed  the  hall  and  looked  at  him  without 
appearing  to  do  so. 

"  What  a  handsome  young  man,  Mr.  Palmer  1"  she  said. 
"  Who  is  he?" 

"  Judging  by  his  coolness,  not  to  say  cheek,  Mary,  I 
should  say  he  was  one  of  the  royal  family;  but  he  happens  to 
be  the  new  foreman  at  the  farm,"  replied  Palmer,  with  dig- 
nity, as  he  stalked  away  to  his  pantry. 

Jack  strode  down  the  terrace  and  across  the  lawn,  stopping 
now  and  again  to  look  round  him;  but  he  eoald  see  nothing 
of  Miss  Vancourt,  and,  with  a  shrug  of  the  sliouiclcra,  vaulted 
the  park  railing,  and  was  taking  a  short  cat  for  the  farm, 
when  Bob  uttered  a  soft  growl,  and  stopped  short. 

"  Babbit,  old  man?"  said  Jack.  "Better  let  it  alone. 
Miss  Vancourt  or  the  keeper  mightn't  like  it." 

But  Bob's  growl  changed  into  a  soft  bark  of  pleasure  as  he 
ran  into  the  trees,  and  Jaek  presently  saw  that  the  rabbit,  in 


58  I*VE,  THE  TYBA2?T. 

a  white  dress  and  with  a  sunshade,  was  sitting  at  the  foot  ef  • 
big  elm  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  Bob  sprang  to  her,  thrust 
nis  nose  against  her  bosom,  and  wagged  his  tail,  then,  with  a 
sigh  which  said  quite  plainly,  "  How  delightful  to  meet  you 
again  like  this!"  stretched  himself  at  her  feet,  and,  placing 
one  huge  paw  on  her  white  dress,  looked  up  at  his  master 
with  a  kind  of  "  Here's  the  pretty  girl  we  saw  yesterday,  you 
know!" 

Jask  raised  his  hat. 

"  I  apologise  for  my  dog,  Miss  Vancourt.  He  means  well; 
but  he's  a  little  too  free — with  people  he  takes  a  fancy  to. 
Come  here,  Bob!" 

Esther  inclined  her  head,  then  snuggled  her  face  against 
Bob's  soft  and  silky  one. 

"  Don't  call  him,  please.  I  think  it  is  very  nice  of  him  to 
remember  me." 

"  Oh,  Bob  never  forgets  a  friend  or  a  benefit,"  said  Jack. 
"  He  leaves  that  to  us  men." 

Esther  held  Bob's  long  nose  in  her  white  hand,  and  Jack, 
as  he  looked  at  it,  remembered  the  size  of  the  glove.  There 
was  a  faint  colour  in  her  face,  and  she  seemed  so  engrossed  ia 
the  dog  as  to  have  forgotten  his  master's  presence. 

"  Sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,  Miss  Vancourt,"  said  Jack, 
after  a  pause,  "  but  I've  just  been  up  to  the  house  to  see  you, 
and  they  said  I  might  find  you  about  the  grounds." 

"  You  want  to  see  me?"  said  Esther,  rather  coldly.  "  How 
is  Martin  this  morning?" 

"  Getting  on  all  right,  I  think." 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said  as  coldly  as  before.  She  had  glanced 
up  at  him  for  a  moment  under  half  her  lids,  then  she  fell  to 
caressing  Bob  again  with  an  air  of  indifference  to  the  man's 
proximity  which  the  youngest  girl  can  manage  so  cleverly. 

Jack  was  slightly  nettled  by  it — the  man  is  intended  to  be 
nettled — and,  rather  abruptly,  he  said: 

"  Do  you  mind  my  cutting  down  most  of  the  trees  in  one  of 
the  farm  fields,  Miss  "^ancourt?" 

Esther  looked  up  quickly,  open-eyed  now. 

"  Cutting  down  the  trees,"  she  echoed,  vaguely.  "  Why? 
Why  do  you  want  to  cut  them?" 

Jack  stood  bolt  upright  and  stifled  a  sigh.  Explaining  the 
elementary  rales  of  farming  to  a  young  girl  is  a  large  order 
for  the  most  patient  of  men,  and  Jack  Gordon  was  anything 
but  patient. 

"  You  can't  grow  corn  and  mangels,  any  kind  of  crop,  ia 
and  trees  as  well,  in  one  field,"  he  said. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT.  59 

Bether  stared  at  him. 

"  Why  do  yon  try,  then?"  she  asked.  "  Trees  are  erer  se 

much  prettier  than  mangels.  What  are  mangels,  Mr. ?" 

she  hesitated. 

"  Gordon!    Jack  Gordon,"  he  said,  raising  his  hat  slightly 

She  returned  the  salutation  with  a  bend  of  her  head,  then 
was  wild  with  herself  for  doing  it  and  flushed. 

"  Mangels  are  roots:  cows  eat  'em,"  said  Jack. 

"  Can't  you  grow  them  somewhere  else?"  asked  Esther, 
languidly. 

"  Oh,  certainly;  but  this  field  happens  to  be  the  best  OQ 
the  farm. 

"  Then  why  didn't  they  grow  them  before?  How  old  is 
your  dog,  Mr.  Gordon?" 

"  Coming  four,"  replied  Jack,  rather  curtly.  "  They  have 
tried,  like  the  idiots  they  were,  but,  of  course,  it  wasn't  any 
Use." 

"  Why  didn't  Sir  Richard  cut  down  the  trees?" 

"  Because  he  had  a  fancy  for  them:  some  persons  have." 

"  I  have,"  said  Esther,  haughtily. 

Jack  nodded. 

"  All  right:  then  we'll  grow  'em  and  give  up  the  crops.'1 
He  looked  at  Bob  as  if  he  were  going,  then  paused.  "  Have 
you  any  idea  how  much  your  home  farm  costs  you,  Miss  Van- 
court?"  he  said,  half  reluctantly,  as  if  he  were  obeying  a 
conscientious  impulse. 

Esther  stared. 

!<  Not  in  the  least.    Why?"  m 

"  Oh,  because — well,  I  suppose  it  doesn't  matter.  I'm 
sorry  to  have  bothered  you,  and  I'll  wish  you  good-morning." 

He  called  Bob,  and  the  dog  stretched  himself  and  wagged 
his  tail  with  a  wistful  glance  at  the  beautiful  lady  with  the 
soft  lap  on  which  his  head  was  pillowed. 

"  Wait,  please,"  said  Esther,  with  her  lady-of-the-manor 
air.  "  I  wish  to  understand.  Perhaps  you  know  that  I  have 
only  just  come,  have  only  recently  become  mistress  of  the 
Towers;  and  I — I  don't  know  much  about  anything  concern- 
ing the  estate."  The  colour  came  into  her  face,  and  she  for- 
got her  hauteur.  "  How  should  I  know  anything  about 
mangels:  they  didn't  grow  them  in  Islington — I  mean  where 
I  lived  before  Sir  Richard  left  me  all — all  this."  She  lifted 
her  sunsnade  so  that  she  might  look  round  with  a  compre- 
hensive glance. 

Jack  felt  uncomfortable. 


60  ttJVE,  THE  TYRANT! 

«*I»ve — I've  beard  something  about  it,"  he  said.    - 
here  yon  are,  yon  know,  and — " 

"  It's  time  I  learnt  something  now,  you  mean?"  she  broke 
in,  as  he  hesitated.  "  I  suppose  that  is  what  every  one  says 
and  thinks.  But  people  expect  too  much.  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Gordon,  a  few  months  ago  I  had  as  little  expectation  of 
being  mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers  as  of  being  the — the 
Queen  of  England!" 

Her  eyes  were  glowing,  her  lips  apart,  and  she  looked  at 
him  in  a  half-absent,  half-absorbed  fashion.  Jack  leant 
against  the  tree  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  she  was  so 
engrossed  that  she  did  not  notice  his  free-and-easy  attitude; 
indeed,  she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  its  grace. 

"  This  place,  and  all  Sir  Richard's  money,  ought  to  have 
gone  to  his  nephew,  Sir  John  Vancourt.  But  he  died." 

She  sighed  and  looked  straight  before  her. 

'*  Rather  hard  on  him,"  said  Jack,  drily,  "  but  rather 
fortunate — " 

"  For  me?  Do  not  say  that!"  she  exclaimed,  almost  in- 
dignantly. "You  would  not,  if  you  knew  the  whole  story. 
It  is  a  very  sad  one — terribly  so.  He — he  was  murdered  out 
in  Australia  just  after  his  uncle's  death.  On  the  very  night 
that  the  letter  announcing  his  succession  reached  him. 

"  Poor  beggar!"  said  Jack.  "  But  that  was  no  fault  of 
yours,  you  know." 

"  N-o;  I  know;  but  somehow  I  never  think  of  it  without 
feeling  in  some  way  guilty." 

1 1  shouldn't  think  of  it,"  remarked  Jack. 

"  I  don't — when  I  can  help  it!"  she  said,  with  a  naivete 
which  made  Jack  smile  behind  his  moustache.  "  And  so— so 
as  he  was  dead,  I  came  into  the  property.  Don't  you  think 
It  is  sad — dreadfully  sad?" 

"For  you?"  asked  Jack. 

She  looked  at  him  almost  angrily,  and  gave  an  impatient 
jerk  to  the  sunshade. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  understand,  of  course,"  she  said.  "  I 
meant  for  me.  Bat  there's  no  use  talking  about  it." 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  And 
I'm  not  to  cut  down  those  trees,  Miss  Vanconrt?" 

She  jerked  the  sunshade  again  so  that  he  could  see  her 
face.  It  looked  wonderfully  lovely  and  bewitching  with  its 
touch  of  girlish  impatience  and  temper  in  the  grey  eyes. 

"  Oh,  cut  them  down,  if  you  like!"  she  rei" 
•teiy.    "  /  don't  care— I  mean*  I  don't  knowr 


LOVE,  THE  TYEANT.  61 

"  But  1  do,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  The  trees  ought  to  go^ 
Miss  Vanconrt;  mangels  won't  grow — " 

"  You  said  that  before,"  she  interrupted  him,  pettish" 
fagly.  "  But,  there!  I  suppose  you  ought  to  grow  mangels; 
Are  you — you  comfortable?  Do  you  think  you  will  like  yois 
— place?"" 

For  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  help  hesitating  before  the 
word  "  place."  The  young  fellow  looked  so  like  a  gentle- 
man lounging  against  the  tree  that  she  found  it  hard  to  be- 
lieve that  he  was  a  servant  of  hers,  a  sort  of  farm  labourer. 

"  Oh,  yes;  very  comfortable.  Mrs.  Martin  is  a  good  sort, 
and  Nettie  and  I  are  chums  already.  I  shall  hold  out  all 
right  till  Martin  gets  better." 

She  looked  down  at  Bob. 

"  And  then — what  will  you  do?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

' '  The  future  lies  on  the  knees  of  the  gods,"  he  replied, 
carelessly. 

"  What  a  strange  expression!"  she  said;  her  lips  parted 
with  a  smile  that  made  them  very  lovable,  so  lovable,  that 
Jack,  upon  whom  she  had  not  before  smiled,  gazed  at  her 
with  the  man's  too  candid  stare  of  admiration;  whereat  the 
smile  vanished  and  a  slight  frown  took  its  place. 

"  It's  Egyptian,  I  believe.  Heard  it  from  a  chum:  dead 
now,  poor  chap!" 

He  stopped  and  winced:  for  he  was  speaking  of  this  girl's 
brother! 

"  A  chum?  One  of  whom  you  were  fond?  I  know  by  the 
way  you  spoke,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  curtly.     "  I'd  reason  to  be." 

;<  Why?"  she  asked.     "  Did  he  do  you  a  great  service?" 

"  Yes;  he  saved  my  live — gave  his  life  for  me — that's  all," 
said  Jack. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  sweet  gravity  and  sympathy, 
and  with  an  interest  and  curiosity  too  obvious  to  be  ignored. 

"  It's  too  long  a  story,"  he  said,  a  little  huskilyr  almost 
roughly. 

"  And  too  painful,"  she  said,  swiftly,  with  a  woman's 
quick  delicacy.  "  Some  day,  perhaps,  you  will  tell  me." 

"  I  think  not.  You'll  have  to  excuse  me,"  he  said,  grimly. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  she  was  trying 
to  recover  the  attitude  and  air  of  dignity  with  which  she  had 
received  him;  then  Jack  woke  as  if  from  a 


62  WVE,  THE  TYBAUli 

"  PL  get  those  trees  felled  at  once.  Good-morning,  Mia 
Vancourt." 

He  raised  his  hat  and  called  Bob,  this  time  in  a  tone  which 
demanded  instant  obedience,  and  Esther  nodded  rather 
coldly.  Then  she  said,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought: 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  see  those  trees,  Mr.  Gordon,  to  see 
if  they  ought  to  be  cut  down  or  not?" 

Jack  had  some  difficulty  in  repressing  a  smile;  but  he  man- 
aged  it. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said.  "  If  you  were  a  man,  you  would 
naturally." 

She  raised  her  chin  haughtily. 

"  Oh!  it  doesn't  follow  that  because  I  am  a  woman  I 
should  be  an  absolute  idiot.  Is  it  far?" 

"  The  other  side  of  the  farm,"  he  replied.  "  And  if  8 
warm  walking." 

She  coloured  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  won't  come.  Yes,  I  willl"  with  a 
portentous  sigh.  "  I  suppose  it's  my  duty!" 

"  Then  come  on,"  said  Jack,  abruptly.  She  stared  at 
him,  her  face  flushing.  "  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Van- 
court,"  he  stammered.  "  I  mean  that  I  shall  be  honoured! 
1  hope  you'll  forgive  my  abruptness:  I'm — I'm  only  a  work- 
ing-man, and  not  used  to  ladies,  you  see." 

"  Of  course  I  could  see  that!"  she  said,  with  deadly  sweet- 
ness. "  It's  of  no  consequence." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THEY  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  moments,  Bob,  in  be- 
tween them,  glancing  up  at  one  and  the  other  enquiringly,  as 
if  he  were  asking  himself  what  was  the  matter,  and  why  these 
two  friends  of  his  couldn't  be  friends  with  each  other. 

Presently  he  pricked  up  his  ears  and  ran  forward  with  his 
nose  to  the  ground. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Esther. 

"  He  sees  or  smells  something;  Bob  has  the  nose  and  eye 
of  an  Irish  terrier:  he's  had  a  hard  bringing  up.  Ah,  there 
it  is:  hare,  I  expect,"  said  Jack. 

He  followed  the  dog  and  picked  up  a  hare  that  had  been 
caught  in  a  snare. 

"  Oh,  poor  thing!"  exclaimed  Esther.     "  Is  it  dead?" 

*'  Yes,  quite,"  replied  Jack.  "  Been  there  some  time* 
That'*  ft  well-made  snare,"  he  added,  eyeing  it  critically. 


,  THE  TYSA3ST.  63 

"Yon've  some  skilful  poachers  on  the  estate,  Miss  Van- 
court." 

"  Poachers?"  echoed  Esther.  She  had  read  about  them, 
and  felt  quite  a  romantic  thrill.  "  It  was  a  poacher,  then, 
who  caught  this?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  rather  grimly,  as  he  put  the  snare  in 
his  pocket.  "  You  don't  appear  to  preserve  your  game  very 
carefully." 

"  Don't  I?"  said  Esther,  looking  up  at  him  doubtfully. 
"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Oh,  yes!  I  remember 
Mr.  Floss  saying  that  Sir  Bichard  had  neglected  the  game." 

"  Yes;  he  went  in  for  collecting  curiosities,  and  that's 
rather  an  absorbing  amusement." 

"  How  did  you  know  he  did  that?"  she  asked,  with  some 
surprise. 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  I  have  heard  it  from  somebody  or  other,"  he  replied, 
carelessly.  "  When  a  man  goes  in  for  a  hobby  like  collect- 
ing, he's  sure  to  neglect  his  duties.  It's  the  duty  of  every 
landowner  to  look  after  his  game." 

'•'  It  seem  to  me  that  a  landowner  has  a  great  many  du- 
ties,*' remarked  Esther,  rather  ruefully.  "  I'm  hearing  of 
some  fresh  ones  every  day  from  Mr.  Floss,  and  Miss  Worces- 
ter— my  aunt — and  now  from  you.  I  should  like  to  do  my 
duty,  Mr.  Gordon;  but  it's  rather  hard,  seeing  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it." 

"  Very  hard:  but  you'll  pick  it  up  in  time,"  said  Jack,  en- 
couragingly. 

"  Now,  if  Sir  Richard's  nephew,  poor  Sir  John — the  young 
man  who  died,  you  know — I  told  you — " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

— "  If  he  had  lived  and  inherited  this  property,  he  would 
have  preserved  the  game,  I  suppose?" 

"  He  certainly  would!"  asserted  Jack,  emphatically. 

"  Well,  then,  /  must!"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  but  reso- 
lutely. "  I  want  to  do  everything  he  would  have  done." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not! — I  mean,"  he  corrected  himself  hastily, 
"  perhaps  not  everything." 

"What  would  you  do  about  the  game,  Mr.  Gordon?"  she 
asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  Engage  another  gamekeeper,"  he  said,  promptly.  "  Get 
a  fresh  start,  in  fact.  I  suppose  you'll  have  some  company 
presently,  a  shooting-party  in  the  autumn,  and  so  on?" 

"  I  suppose  so  " — absently. 


64  LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT. 

"  At  any  rate,  your  friends  and  neigho oun..  ^a  peoplt 
round  about,  will  expect  to  be  asked  over  to  shoot." 

"  Will  they?  You  see,  I  don't  know.  Only  a  few  weeks 
ago  I  was  living  in  a  dingy,  dusty  little  street  in  Islington, 
teaching  music;  and  what  should  I  know  of — of  all  these 
things,  excepting  what  I've  read  in  books?" 

"  And  books  are  generally  all  wrong,"  said  Jack,  with  the 
practical  man's  contempt  for  fiction  when  it  deals  with  sport. 
**  And  you  taught  music?" 

"  Yes.    Are  you  fond  of  it?" 

"  Love  it,"  he  said,  succinctly.  "  I  heard  you  singing  and 
playing  last  night." 

"  Yes?    Why,  where  were  you?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  Just  walking  round,"  said  Jack,  carelessly.  "Making 
a  kind  of  inspection.  There  was  someone  else  singing,  too." 

'*  Yes;  that  was  Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton,  a  friend  who  is  staying 
with  us.  vHasn't  he  a  splendid  voice?"  she  said,  enthusi- 
astically. 

"  Splendid,"  assented  Jack,  absently. 

Selby  Lay  ton!  Where  had  he  heard  the  name  before?  He 
cudgelled  his  brains  in  the  usual  way,  but  failed  to  knock  oat 
the  memory. 

"  He  is  a  distant  relation  of  mine,"  said  Esther.  "  And 
he  has  been  very  kind;  he  is  going  to  help  me  in — in  a  little 
matter —  What  cottage  is  that?  I've  not  seen  it  before," 
she  broke  off  to  ask. 

"  That's  the  foreman's  cottage,"  replied  Jack.  "  And  as 
I'm  the  foreman  for  the  time  being,  I  may  say  that  it  is 
mine." 

The  door  was  open,  and  she  went  up  to  it. 

"  Will  you  walk  in?"  he  asked,  civilly;  but  she  just  looked 
in,  then  drew  back. 

"  No,  thanks.     It  looks  very  comfortable." 

"  It  is,"  said  Jack. 

She  sighed. 

"  How  funny!" 
'  Beg  pardon?" 

"  I  was  thinking  that  a  few  weeks  ago  I  should  have 
danced  with  delight  if  any  one  had  told  me  that  I  was  going 
to  live  in  a  pretty,  picturesque  cottage  like  this,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  I  always  longed  for  a  cottage  in  a  wood!" 

"  Seems  to  me  that  a  mansion  in  a  park  is  better,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is."  She  sighed  again.  "  Of  eourse 
it  is!  Jtafr-'* 


TOVE,  THE  TYBANT,  65 

He  stepped  in,  flung  the  hare  on  the  tablt*  and  took  a 
woodman's  axe  from  its  nail  on  the  wall. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that?'*  she  asked;  "  you 
are  not  going  to  cut  down  the  trees  at  onoe,  now?" 

"  Oh,  no.  I'm  only  going  to  mark  them,"  he  said.  "  It's 
not  much  farther." 

He  swung  the  axe  over  his  shoulder,  and  they  walked  on. 
The  path  grew  narrow  in  places,  and,  having  to  show  the 
way,  he  walked  in  front.  She  looked  at  him,  now  that  he 
could  not  see  her,  with  a  woman's  close  attention:  how 
straight  he  was,  how  broad  across  the  shoulders,  and  how 
firmly,  yet  lightly,  he  walked!  Not  for  the  first  time  since 
she  had  first  seen  him,  she  wondered  what  his  history  might 
be;  that  there  was  a  history  she  was  sure. 

She  was  thinking  of  him  so  intently,  that  she  started 
slightly  when  he  stopped  and  said: 

"  Here  we  are,  the  best  field  on  the  place,  and  those  trees 
spoil  it — com-plete-lv  spoil  it,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  elms 
and  beeches  which  surrounded  it. 

"  They  must  all  come  down,  then,"  she  said,  rather  re- 
Inctantly.  "  Couldn't  you  " — pleadingly — "  save  one  or 
two?" 

"  *  Woodman,  spare  that  tree!'  "  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"Well,  we'll  see." 

He  took  off  his  coat,  pitched  it  on  to  a  bank,  and,  taking  a 
survey,  cur,  a  not  ch  in  one  of  the  trunks,  skipped  the  next, 
and  notched  its  fellow;  selecting  the  worst  trees  for  destruc- 
tion, and  evidently  so  absorbed  in  his  work  as  to  have  quite 
forgotten  her  presence.  She  walked  beside  him  with  an  in- 
terest which  sm  prised  her. 

*'  It  seems  very  easy,"  she  said,  absently. 

He  looked  round,  as  if  recalled  to  a  sense  of  her  presence. 

"  Oh,  it's  easy  enough,"  he  assented,  calmly. 

"  I  should  like  to  try,"  she  said.  "  How  bright  ths  axe 
is!" 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Better  not,"  he  said.  "  It's  sharp  as  well  as  bright,  and 
ft  has  a  nasty  trick  of  turning  round  in  the  hands  of  an  un- 
accustomed person.  ' 

Esther  coloured  and  raie  d  her  chin. 

"  I'm  not  afraid.  Give  it  me,  please!"  she  said,  haughtily. 

Jack  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then,  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he  held  the  axe  out  to  her. 

"  Oh,  it's  heavier  than  I  thought,"  she  said,  as  the  tocfe 


66  LOVE,  THE  TYRANl. 

it,  then  she  bit  her  lip.  "  I  suppose  it's  "because  I'm  not 
used  to  it." 

But  she  was  too  proud  to  wait  for  any  instructions,  and 
standing  in  front  of  a  tree,  swung  the  axe  back — slowly, 
fortunately — and  made  a  cut  at  the  trunk.  The  axe  swung 
downwards,  as  it  has  a  trick  of  doing  when  you  don't  know 
how  to  work  it,  just  grazed  an  inch  or  two  from  the  bark  and 
fell  from  her  hand. 

"  That  wasn't  my  fault,"  she  said,  biting  her  lip  with  im- 
patience. "  The  thing  caught  something  as  I  swung  it 
(back." 

The  "  something  "  was  Jack's  shoulder,  where  he  could 
feel  a  dull  ache  and  smarting  which  told  him  that  he  was 
"  touched,"  as  woodmen  put  it. 

"  A  small  branch  or  twig,  most  likely,"  he  said,  quietly,  as 
he  put  on  his  coat.  "  Have  you  hurt  your  hand — twisted 
your  wrist?" 

"  Oh,  no!"  she  said,  lightly.  "  I  shall  do  it  better  next 
time." 

He  picked  up  the  axe  and  gave  it  to  her,  and  she  made  an- 
other swipe. 

"  It's  not  nearly  so  deep  as  yours,  but  it's  better,"  she  re- 
marked, looking  at  the  cut  with  satisfaction.  "  But  how  it 
tires  one's  arm!" 

"  Didn't  hold  it  tight  enough,"  he  said.  "  If  you  really 
want  to  do  it  proper!  y,for  goodness'  sake — I  mean,  permit  me 
to  show  you  how,  Miss  Vancourt." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  assented,  grudgingly. 

He  took  the  axe  from  her  and  held  it  in  proper  form. 

"  See?  I  grip  it  tight — just  here — like  this.  Then  I 
swing  it  back  with  the  edge  this  way.  Don't  get  behind  me; 
stand  at  the  side,  and  I — '  The  axe  described  a  magniflcent 
curve,  struck  the  tree,  first  upwards  and  then  downwards, 
and  the  notch  shone  clear  and  white  in  the  bark. 

"  I  see!  Please,"  she  took  the  axe,  and,  of  course,  held  it 
in  the  wrong  place. 

"  No,  no!  Just  here,"  he  said,  almost  impatiently;  and 
he  put  his  hand  on  hers  and  moved  it  to  the  right  position. 
His  hand,  long  and  brown,  but  in  its  way  as  shapely  as  hers, 
covered  her  soft,  white  one,  and,  as  it  closed  round  it  com- 
pellingly,  the  warm  firm  pressure  sent  a  strange  thrill 
through  the  girl.  She  felt  the  colour  rising  to  her  face,  and 
fought  in  vain  to  keep  it  down. 

"  Thanks,"  she  said,  curtly;  "  but  I  don't  think  I  car* 
?ery  much  about  it — now." 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANTS  67 

"  Oh,  bave  another  try,"  he  said,  resignedly,  "  now  you've 
begun.  Better!  Now  swing  it  back  like  this.  Don't  be 
afraid;  there's  no  branch  behind  you  this  time.  See!  That's 
it!"  He  guided  the  axe,  still  keeping  his  hand  on  hers,  then, 
at  the  downward  stroke,  left  her  free.  "  That's  all  right, 
now  strike  up.  No!  Better  not!" 

"  Why  not?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  it  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  probably  miss  the 
tree  and  cut  your  own  head  off,"  he  said. 

"  Nonsense!  I  should  do  nothing  of  the  sort!"  she  re- 
torted. "  Take  care,  I'm  going  to  try." 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said,  coolly,  and  he  took  hold  of  the 
axe. 

She  held  it  firmly  and  stared  at  him  haughtily;  then  her 
face  changed,  and  she  let  go  and  drew  back  with  a  faint  cry. 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  he  asked. 

"Why — oh,  look! — there's  something  —  it's — yes,  it'a 
blood,  on  the  handle!  Oh!" — and  she  shuddered. 

Jack  looked  at  the  handle,  and  wiped  it  quickly  across  his 
sleeve  with  an  expression  of  annoyance. 

"  So  it  is,"  he  said.     "  I  wonder—" 

She  shuddered  again. 

"  Oh,  I  know!    It  must  have  come  from  that  hare!" 

Jack's  face  cleared  and  he  laughed. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  you  haven't  got  any  on 
your  hands?" 

She  held  out  her  white  paws  and  regarded  them  with 
shrinking  apprehension,, 

"  Yes — there  is!  How  horrible!"  she  said;  and  holding 
the  stained  hand  away  from  her  as  far  as  possible,  she  drew 
out  the  small  square  of  web-like  cambric  which  her  sex  desig- 
nate a  handkerchief. 

Jack  looked  at  it  doubtfully. 

"  Don't  use  that — it's  too  good,"  he  said.  "  Take  mine. 
It's  a  clean  one.  I  bought  a  couple  on  the  road,"  he  added, 
as  she  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  she  said.  "  But  I  can't  take  yours.  It's 
not  much  of  a  stain — though  it's  horrid! — and  mine  will  do." 

She  wiped  away  the  smudge  with  the  dainty  iiiindkerchief, 
with  a  shudder  at"  each  wipe,  then  with  a  final  "  TJghl"  flung 
the  square  of  cambric  from  her. 

As  she  did  so,  a  step  sounded  near  them,  Jack  and  Bob 
heard  it,  and  the  latter  sat  up  with  a  low  growl;  but  Esther 
was  too  absorbed  in  her  distasteful  task  to  notice. 

"  I  was  afraid  jrn'd  managed  to  eut  yourself,"  said  Jack. 


;68  LOVE,  THE  TTEAST. 

'It  would  only  have  been  what  I  deserved," sfce 
"  Persons  who  play  with  edged  tools,  yon  know — " 

Bob  sprang  forward  between  them  with  an  angry  growl;  a 
man's  voice  was  heard,  in  accents  of  alarm,  calling  out  coax- 
ingly: 

"  Down,  sir!  Good  dog!  There!  good  dog — hi!  You, 
there,  call  off  your  beastly  dog!" 

Jack  called  Bob,  and  as  he  obeyed  reluctantly  and  still 
growling,  the  graceful  figure  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  dressed  in, 
a  spick-and-span  knickerbocker  suit  came  towards  them.  For 
a  moment  he  saw  only  Jack,  and  began  in  a  hectoring  fash- 
ion, his  face  still  rather  pale: 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  you  look  after  your  dog,  my  man! 
The  brute  was  nearly  springing  at  me — " 

Then  he  saw  Esther,  and,  colouring,  stopped  short,  look- 
ing from  one  to  the  other  with  surprise  and  embarrassment. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Vancourt,  I'd  no  idea  you 
were  here!  I — er — have  been  looking  for  you." 

By  this  time  the  sweet  smile  was  in  its  usual  working 
•rder,  and  he  turned  it  on  as  if  there  was  no  one  else  present. 
Esther  had  also  coloured  for  a  moment,  but  she  said  quite 
casually: 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  some  trees  with — " 

As  she  paused,  the  two  men  regarded  each  other.  Layton 
with  a  kind  of  faint  doubt  behind  his  superciliousness,  Jack 
with  the  steady  calm  of  the  strong  man  looking  on  the  weak 
one. 

— "  This  is  the  foreman  of  the  farm,"  she  said.  "  Mr. 
Gordon." 

For  a  moment  Selby  Layton  had  been  puzzled  by  th.3  face 
and  figure  of  the  man  before  him,  for  he  thought  he  knew  a 
gentleman  when  he  saw  him,  but  at  "  This  is  the  foreman  of 
the  farm,"  his  superciliousness  returned  in  full  vigour. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  condescendingly.  "  Rather  a  dangerous 
dog  of  yours,  isn't  it?" 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  with  the  slow  drawl  which  had  put 
many  a  blusterer  to  confusion;  "  he  ia  all  right.  He's  as 
quiet  as  a  lamb,  as  a  rule,  and  only  goes  for  doubtful  char- 
acters." 

Selby  Layton's  face  flushed,  and  he  opened  his  mouth  to 
retort  angrily,  but  suddenly  restrained  himself,  and  with  a 
curl  of  the  lips  that  turned  his  smile  to  a  sneer,  said: 

"  Sounds  as  if  he  takes  mt;  for  one,  my  friend!" 

"  The  best  of  dogs  make  a  mistake  sometimes,"  said  Jack, 
quietiy.  "  Though  you  don't  do  it  often,  do  you,  Bob?" 


KJVB,  THE  TYRANT.  69 

lie  raioed  his  hat  to  Esther,  and  was  turning  away;  then 
fee  paused  as  if  he  had  suddenly  remembered  his  manners. 

"  Do  you  want  me  any  longer,  Miss  Vancourt?" 

Now,  Esther  had  been  standing,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  with  a  certain  sense  of  embarrassment.  Selby  Layton's 
tone  and  manner  of  addressing  the  other  man  had  jarred  upon 
her  and — hurt  her;  on  the  other  hand,  Jack's  cool  retort  had, 
though  it  had  savoured  of  insolence  coming  from  a  servant 
and  an  inferior,  extorted  the  woman's  admiration;  conse- 
quently, being  afraid  lest  she  should  reveal  it,  she  said  coldlyr 
with  her  head  well  up,  and  her  chin  out: 

"  Ho,  thanks;  you  may  go,  Mr.  Gordon." 

Jack  raised  his  hat  again,  and  strode  off.  When  he  was 
out  of  sight  he  took  off  his  coat,  for  it  was  his  only  one,  and 
he  didn't  want  to  spoil  it:  his  shoulder  was  bleeding  pretty 
freely. 

When  he  had  reached  the  cottage  he  took  off  his  shirt  and 
looked  at  the  cut.  It  was  neither  deep  nor  long,  and  he 
laughed  rather  grimly: 

"  Serves  me  right  for  standing  so  close  behind  a  woman 
fooling  with  an  axe!" 

After  he  had  washed  the  wound,  he  lit  a  pipe  and  went  off 
in  the  direction  of  the  farm;  but  at  the  crossing  of  the  paths 
he  paused.  He  went  on  again,  paused  again,  and  ultimately 
strode  back  to  the  field.  Even  at  the  hedge  he  stopped  again; 
but,  as  if  it  were  a  magnet,  the  little  blood-stained  handker- 
chief drew  him. 

He  stood  and  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  wistfully,  and  with 
self-mockery  for  his  weakness.  At  last  he  stooped  and  picked 
it  up,  and  with  a  laugh,  half  of  shame — the  man's  shame  for 
sentiment — he  thrust  the  dainty,  useless  thing  into  his  breast- 
pocket. 

It  was  a  long  day  for  Jack — the  new  bioom  always  finda 
plenty  of  sweeping  to  be  done — and  the  farm-hands  speedily 
discovered  that  they  had  now  got  a  foreman  who  not  only 
knew  what  work  was,  but  could  take  his  share  in  it. 

Every  now  and  then,  as  he  lifted  his  arm,  the  flesh-wound 
on  his  shoulder  smarted  and  reminded  him  of  Miss  Vancourt's 
performance  with  the  axe;  but  there  was  something  else, 
lying  enugly  near  his  heart,  which  helped  to  keep  her  in  his 
memory.  Once  or  twice  he  had  felt  inclined  to  take  the 
handkerchief  from  its  place  and  throw  it  away;  but  it  re- 
mained there,  safe  enough. 

After  dinner — which  he  ate  in  a  hurry — he  went  out  IB 
search  of  some  men  to  fell  the  trees. 


70  XOTE,  THE  TYRAOT* 

Beyond  thw  rimall  village  was  a  row  of  those  tumble-down 
cottages  which  one  finds  on  every  estate.  To  these  drift  the 
idle  and  ne'er-do-well  of  the  labourers,  and  Jack  stopped  and 
looked  at  them,  thinking  that  it  he  were  master  of  Vancourt 
they  would  come  down  pretty  quickly. 

While  he  was  looking  at  them  and  wondering  whether  he 
should  find  the  men  he  wanted  there,  a  young  girl  came  to 
one  of  the  open  doors,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 
looked  down  the  road  as  if  she  were  in  search  of  someone. 

She  was  a  remarkably  handsome  girl,  with  a  wealth  of 
auburn  hair  framing  a  face  in  which  the  dark  brown  eyes 
were  striking  features.  There  was  an  anxious  expression  in 
them  at  that  moment,  and  as  Jack  went  up  to  the  gate,  and, 
raising  his  hat,  gave  her  "  Good-afternoon,"  she  started  and 
shrank  back,  and  the  brown  eyes  turned  to  him  with  a  startled 
gaze. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  much  more  gently  than  he 
had  as  yet  spoken  to  Miss  Vancourt.  "  I  am  trying  to  find 
some  men  to  fell  some  trees.  Is  there  any  one  here  who 
could  manage  it,  do  you  know?" 

She  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  lowering,  her  manner  one  of 
marked  reserve  and  repression. 

"  No;  there  is  no  one  here  who  could  do  it,"  she  replied  in 
a  low  voice  that  had  a  deeper  ring  in  it  than  in  that  of  most 
women:  the  contralto  note.  "  They  are  nearly  all  women 
who  live  here." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jack.    "  Sorry  to  have  troubled  you," 

She  made  a  gesture  of  acknowledgment,  blushing  slightly, 
and  Jack  went  on.  As  he  came  to  the  turn  of  the  road,  he 
met  a  man  shambling  along  the  path.  Jack  saw  that  he  had 
been  drinking,  and  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass.  The  man 
was  muttering  to  himself,  and  took  no  notice  of  Jack,  who, 
watching  him,  saw  him  stumble  up  to  the  girl,  who  had  come 
down  the  little  garden  to  meet  him.  She  spoke  to  him  in  a 
low  voice  of  remonstrance  and  rebuke,  and  they  entered  the 
cottage  together. 

Jack  found  three  men,  after  a  great  deal  of  hunting,  and 
only  returned  to  the  farm  in  time  for  supper.  Then  ne  lit 
his  pipe  and  went  off  to  the  cottage,  intending  to  go  to  bed, 
for  he  was  tired.  But  he  was  seized  by  a  fit  of  restlessness, 
and  the  sight  of  the  hare  lying  on  the  table  where  he  had 
thrown  it  reminded  him  of  the  poachers.  The  man  who  had 
Bet  the  snare  would  be  certain  to  visit  the  spot  that  night, 
sad  it  occurred  to  Jack  that  it  would  be  rather  amusing  to 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAira.  71 

meet  the  gentleman.    At  any  rate,  any  occupation  was  better 
than  sitting  there  in  silent  meditation  upon  Miss  Vancourt. 

He  cut  a  thick  stick  from  one  of  the  sapling  oaks,  and 
shutting  Bob  in  the  bedroom,  went  out.  The  moon  was 
hidden  by  a  mass  of  cloud,  but  dark  as  it  was,  he  experienced 
no  difficulty  in  finding  his  way,  for  a  path  once  trodden  by 
him  was  never  forgotten,  and  he  reached  the  spot  where  he 
had  found  the  hare,  stretched  himself  comfortably  amongst 
the  bracken,  and  waited  with  the  patience  of  the  backwoods- 
man. 

He  had  almost  given  his  man  up,  when  he  heard  footsteps, 
and  raising  his  head,  saw  a  figure  coming  through  the  dusky 
avenue  of  the  wood. 

The  man  was  moving  without  any  attempt  at  caution  or 
care,  and  he  stopped  and  struck  a  match  as  boldly  as  if  he 
were  strolling  in  his  own  grounds. 

"  Not  the  first  time  you've  been  here,  my  friend,"  thought 
Jack.  "  Yes,  certainly  Miss  Vanconrt  ought  to  sack  her 
head-keeper!" 

The  match  went  out,  and,  quite  as  boldly,  the  man  struck 
another.  As  the  light  flashed  full  on  his  face,  Jack  recog- 
nised the  man  as  the  inebriated  individual  whom  he  had 
passed  near  the  old  cottages. 

The  poacher  found  the  spot  where  he  had  laid  the  snare, 
and  went  to  it,  feeling  about  for  his  catch,  and  as  he  knelt, 
Jack  rose  suddenly  and  kid  a  hand  upon  the  man's  shoulder. 

With  an  oath,  the  poacher  turned  upon  him;  but  Jack  had 
gripped  him  by  both  arms,  and  held  him  as  if  in  a  vice. 

"  I've  got  what  you  want,  my  man,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  It's  at  my  cottage:  we'll  go  together  and  get  it." 

"  Let  me  go,  or — !"  growled  the  struggling  man;  but 
Jack  held  him  tightly. 

"  No  good:  I'm  younger  than  you,  and  twice  as  strong. 
My  good  chap,  I  could  put  you  over  my  shoulder  quite  easily 
— I  could  indeed.  Better  come  quietly." 

The  man  ceased  struggling  and  seemed  to  be  listening. 

"  You're  not  a  keeper?"  he  said,  sullenly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know;  I'm  keeping  yon,  anyway,"  said 
Jack,  cheerfully. 

As  he  spoke,  he  felt  the  man  trying  to  slip  his  hand  into 
nis  side-pocket,  and  knew  that  he  was  trying  for  a  knife. 
With  a  quick  movement  Jack  threw  him  on  his  back,  then 
caught  up  the  thick  stick,  and,  with  his  knees  on  thp  man's 
chest,  0aid: 


72  LOVE,  THE  TYBABT. 

<s  Don't  be  an  idiot!  I  don't  want  to  hurt  yv&— ^and  up 
tkat  knife — !  No,  don't  trouble;  I'll  get  it  for  you!" 

As  he  fished  the  knife  out  of  the  man's  pocket  and  slipped 
it  in  his  own,  his  grasp  relaxed  somewhat,  and  seizing  his  op- 
portunity, the  poacher  wriggled  to  his  knees  and  tried  to  grip 
Jack. 

Belactantly  enough,  Jack  raised  the  stick;  but  at  that  mo» 
ment  a  cry  arose  quite  near  them,  and  the  light  from  an 
Ordinary  lantern  flashed  upon  them.  Jack  looked  up  and 
saw  the  the  girl  of  the  cottages:  she  had  snatched  the  lantern 
from  under  her  shawl,  and  was  peering  at  them  with  a  look 
«£  terror  in  her  dark  brown  eyes. 

"  No,  no!"  she  cried.  "  Don't!  Ah,  for  God's  sake, 
don't!  Father,  father!  what  are  you  doing  here?  You  prom- 
ised me — you  promised  me!  Don't — don't — hit  him,  please; 
please  don't!" 

Jack  sprang  up  and  dragged  the  man  to  his  feet,  took  the 
lantern  from  the  girl's  shaking  hand,  and  held  it  aloft  so  that 
he  could  see  both  of  them. 

The  man  stood,  dogged  and  sullen,  with  downcast  eyes;  the 
girl  had  covered  hers  with  one  hand,  and  had  seized  her 
lather's  arm  with  the  other.  Suddenly  she  threw  herself  at 
Jack's  feet  and  caught  his  arm  with  both  hands. 

"  Oh,  spare  him,  sir!  It's — it's  only  lately —  He's  not 
been  home  long —  We're  poor,  and — and —  Let  him  go, 
sir;  for  God's  sake,  have  pity,  and  let  him  go!" 

Jack  raised  her. 

"  Keep  quiet,  my  good  girl,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  He  is 
four  father?" 

Before  he  could  get  any  farther,  the  man  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation. It  was  one  of  surprise,  amazement;  amazement 
so  intense  that  it  struck  both  the  girl  and  Jack  silent. 

In  an  instant  the  poacher's  manner  changed,  and  he  lowered 
his  head  and  resumed  his  former  sullen  attitude. 

"  What's  your  name,  my  man?"  asked  Jack,  sternly. 

The  girl  broke  out,  as  if  she  feared  her  father's  manner  of 
reply  might  rouse  Jack's  anger. 

"  Transom  sir,"  she  said,  tremulously.  "  We  live — you 
saw  where  this  afternoon.  We're  honest — it's  only  the 
poacMng —  Oh,  father,  if  you'd  only  kept  your  promise — ! 
And  it  has  not  been  often — he's  only  just  back  from  abroad — 
If — if  you'll  let  us  go,  sir — !" 

She  clasped  her  hands  on  her  bosom  and  bent  forwards  im- 
ploringly, panting  for  breath;  and  Jack  nodded  to  her 
quickly,  but  glanced  towards  her  father  sJ 


I0VE,  THE  TYRAOT.  73 

"  Yes;  you  may  go,"  he  said — he  stopped  her  thanks  with 
a  movement  of  his  hand — "  but  I  need  scarcely  say  that  if  I 
find  your  father  in  the  woods  again — " 

"  No,  no!  He  will  never  set  foot  in  them  again  I"  she 
panted. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Jack.  "  Here's  your  lantern.  Keep 
your  word,  or  you'll  find  I  shall  keep  mine.  Good-night/' 

She  took  the  lantern  with  a  trembling  hand,  then  stood  and 
looked  at  the  bronzed,  handsome  face.  She  said  not  a  word, 
called  down  no  blessing  on  his  head — just  simply  looked  at 
him;  but  Jack  remembered  the  look  to  his  dying  day.  It 
fixed  him  to  the  spot  some  time  after  she  had  moved  away 
with  her  hand  upon  her  father's  arm. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  had  reached  the  end 
of  the  wood,  then  Transom  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow 
in  a  dull,  absorbed  fashion. 

"  What's — what's  that  fellow's  name,  Kate?"  he  asked, 
glancing  at  her  from  the  corners  of  his  bloodshot  eyes, 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  He  is — he's  a  stranger,"  she  said,  her  voice  full  of 
trouble  and  anxiety.  "  He — he  was  good  to  you,  father — t 
You — oh,  you  won't  forget?" 

"  Nol    I  sha'n't  forget,"  he  responded,  thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  No,  I  sha'n't  forget,"  repeated  Transom,  in  the  same 
Curiously  thoughtful  tone. 

Kate  looked  at  him. 

"  You  don't  bear  him  any  malice,  father?"  she  said,  anx- 
iously. "  He  was  kind  —  and  merciful.  He  let  you  go,  and 
he  might  have  prosecuted  you.  You  don't  mean  him  any 
harm?" 

"  Harm?  No,"  he  responded.  "  Who  says  I  do?  No,  1 
don't  wish  him  no  harm  —  though  it  was  no  business  of  his;  he 
ain't  a  gamekeeper.  And  how  long  has  he  been  foreman? 
Where  did  he  come  from?  who  is  he?" 

He  glanced  at  her  with  an  air  half  cunning,  half  curious, 
then  averted  his  gaze  as  if  he  could  not  meet  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know.  Mr.  Martin  broke  his  leg,  and  this  gen- 
tleman —  " 


" 


"  Gentleman?"  be  said,  with  another  sidelong  glance. 
What  do  yea  call  him  that  for?    He's  only  Martin's 


74  IXJVE,  THE  TYBAHT. 

Kate  was  silent  a  moment,  as  if  the  question  had  perplex*! 
her. 

'*  1  don't  know  why  I  said  '  gentleman;'  only  that  he's 
different  to — to  the  others.  Didn't  you  notice  how  he  spoke, 
father,  and  how  quiet  he  was?  I  can't  explain;  but — -he  is 
different,  that's  all  He  came  yesterday;  nobody  knows  any- 
thing about  him." 

Transom  grunted,  and  they  relapsed  into  silence  for  the 
test  of  the  way. 

When  they  had  entered  the  cottage,  Kate  put  the  lantern  on 
the  table,  and  her  father  fell  into  a  chair,  tkrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and  stared  thoughtfully  at  the  floor.  She 
looked  at  him  moodily,  and,  as  if  still  uncomfortable  under 
the  gaze  of  her  magnificent  eyes,  he  shuffled  his  feet,  and  at 
last  looked  up  angrily. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  be  off  to  bed,  Kate?"  he  asked, 
roughly. 

"  We  will  both  go,"  she  replied.  "  You  won't  go  out 
again  to-night,  father?" 

"I'm  not  going,!"  he  retorted,  sullenly.  "Don't  you 
worry  yourself  about  me.  Be  off  to  bed." 

She  lit  a  candle  and  moved  to  the  door,  but  stopped  sud- 
denly, for  she  heard  footsteps  coming  up  the  garden  path. 
They  were  followed  by  a  soft  tap  at  the  window,  and  a  mo- 
ment or  two  afterwards  tne  door  was  opened  cautiously  and  a 
man  stole  in.  He  was  young  and  well  formed,  with  a  face  as 
dark  as  a  gipsy's,  with  the  black,  yellow-shot  eyes  which  one 
sees  only  in  members  of  that  race,  and  with  the  full  red  lips 
which  also  belong  to  it.  He  was  handsome  enough,  but  it 
was  with  the  "  beauty  of  the  devil,"  as  the  French  say,  and 
there  was  something  in  the  expression  of  both  eyes  and  lips 
which  was  anything  but  prepossessing. 

He  did  not  see  Kate  for  a  moment,  for  she  was  screened  by 
the  door,  and  he  came  into  the  room  with  a  jaunty  air  and 
threw  a  fine  salmon  on  the  table. 

"  Hallo,  Transom!  Got  back,  then.  What  did  you  get?" 
he  exclaimed;  then,  as  Transom  looked  warningly  towards 
Kate,  the  young  fellow  turned  with  a  peculiar  swift  and 
lissom  movement  and  nodded. 

"  What,  Kate,  not  in  bed!"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at 
ease  and  a  forced  smile.  "  It's  late  for  you!" 

She  stood  quite  stiil  and  looked  at  him,  her  lips  drav,';: 
tightly,  her  splendid  eyes  sombre  and  repellent 

"  It  is  late,"  she  said,  with  a  coldness  which  masked  her 


I0VE,  THE  TYRANT.  75 

resentment  and  anger.     "  Why  have  you  come?  what  do  yon 
want  at  this  time  of  night?" 

He  pushed  his  soft  cap  from  his  forehead,  on  which  the 
black  hair  clustered  in  short  curls,  and  regarded  her  with  a 
mixture  of  deference  and  banter. 

"  I  saw  a  light,  and  came  hi  to  say  '  good-night.'  I've 
brought  you  a  present,  Kate.'* 

He  nodded  towards  the  salmon,  and  smiled. 

"  Thank  you.  I  don't  want  it,  Dick  Reeve,"  she  said. 
"  Where  did  you  get  it?" 

She  knew  well  enough,  for  a  magnificent  salmon  river  ran 
through  the  Vancourt  estates. 

"  In  the  Hawk's  Pool,"  he  said,  pretending  to  misunder- 
stand her.  "  It's  always  a  safe  throw.  I  should  have  had  a 
couple;  but  the  net  broke,  and  one  got  away.  It's  a  beauty, 
isn't  it?  Will  YOU  accept  it?" 

He  took  off  his  cap,  and  with  the  gipsy  grace  made  a  half" 
mocking  sweep  with  it. 

The  colour  rose  to  her  face,  and  her  eyes  grew  darker. 

"  No.  I'm  not  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods,  Dick  Reeve," 
she  replied,  looking  him  full  in  the  face. 

His  cheek  flushed  under  its  bronze,  and  his  eyes  flashed, 
but  they  met  hers  with  a  bold  stare. 

"You  talk  as  if  I  were  a  London  thief,  offering  you  part 
of  the  swa-sr,  Kate,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  a  thief,  if  I  do  lift  a 
salmon  or  snatch  a  hare  now  and  again." 

"  Every  man  is  a  thief  whe  steals  what  doesn't  belong  to 
him,"  she  said,  her  nostrils  dilating. 

Dick  Reeve  turned  to  Transom  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  Talks  like  a  Methody,  doesn't  she?"  he  said,  mockingly. 

Transom  looked  from  one  to  the  other  abstractedly,  took 
his  pipe  from  the  mantel-shelf  and  lit  it,  and  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders  sauntered  out  of  the  house. 

The  young  fellow  looked  after  him  curiously,  then  returned 
to  Kate. 

"What's  come  to  you  both?  WTiat's  the  matter?"  he 
asked.  "  You  seem  upset.  Touching  the  salmon — it's  a 
good  fish,  and  I  netted  it  fair  enough;  I  didn't  snatch  it;  and 
them  as  it  belongs  to  won't  miss  it.  What's  a  single  fish,  or 
a  dozen,  for  that  matter,  to  Miss  Vancourt?  She  wouldn't 
eat  'em  all  if  she  had  'em.  She's  rolling  in  riches,  and 
oughtn't  to  begrudge  a  bit  of  fish  or  game  to  a  poor  man — " 

Kate  interrupted  him  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  I  don't  want  to  listen  to  you.  I  don't  want  the  salmon," 


76  MJVE,  TET5  TTKA*T. 

she  said.  t{  Yes,  something  has  happened.  Fathers  been 
caught  poaching  in  the  woods." 

'•'-  Whew!"  whistled  Dick.  "  That's  it,  is  it?"  He  looked 
round  cautiously.  "  Was  it  Baynes,  the  keeper?" 

"  Ho,"  she  replied,  "  not  Baynes;  but — but  someone  else. 
It  doesn't  matter,"  she  added,  quickly.  "  He  was  caught, 
and  is  known,  and  has  given  his  word  that  he  won't  poach — 
won't  go  into  the  woods  again." 

Dick  Reeve  smiled. 

"  Is  that  all?"  he  said,  significantly. 

66  Yes;  and  he  will  keep  it.  That  is,  if  you'll  let  him 
alone,"  she  said,  with  sudden  anger. 

"  If  I'll  let  him  alone!"  he  echoed.  "  You  talk  as  if  he 
was  a  child." 

"  He  is — in  your  hands,  Dick  Reeve,"  she  retorted,  swiftly. 
"  Ever  since  he  came  back  from  abroad  you've  been  at  his 
elbow.  You  are  always  here,  leading  him  to  the  public  and 
into  evil  ways.  You  have  got  an  influence  over  him  that  will 
bring  him  no  good." 

She  stopped,  as  if  her  pride  had  suddenly  awakened,  and 
turned  away  from  him,  her  lips  quivering,  her  eyes  smarting 
with  the  unshed  tears  of  resentment  and  helplessness. 

The  man  regarded  her  in  silence  for  a  moment  cr  two, 
then  he  approached  her  in  the  smooth,  gliding  way  peculiar 
to  him. 

"  You're  right  in  one  thing,"  he  said;  "  I  come  here  pretty 
ozten;  but  it  isn't  to  see  your  father.  You  know  why  I 
come,  Kate.  I  come  because  of  you!" 

His  voice  was  low,  but  it  rang  with  suppressed  passion,  and 
the  black  eyes  with  the  yellow  bar  across  them  gleamed  in  the 
flickering  rays  of  the  lantern. 

"  It's  because  he's  your  father  that  I've  made  a  pal  of 
him.  I'd  chum  up  with  any  one  belonging  to  you,  Kate,  and 
you  know  why!" 

He  paused,  but  she  did  not  speak,  and  bis  short,  fierce 
breath  punctuated  the  silence. 

"I've  loved  you  ever  since  we  was  boy  and  girl,  when  we 
used  to  play  together,  and  you  let  me  carry  you  across  the 
etream — yon  don't  remember,  I  daresay,  but  I  don't  forget — 
and  I've  gone  on  loving  you,  though  sometimes  you  won't 
speak  to  me;  or,  if  you  do,  throw  me  a  word  as  a  man  throws 
a  bone  to  a  doer''* 

He  tossed  his  cap  from  his  forehead  as  if  bis  head  were 
tamr  &  ani  stretched  out  his  hand  to  touch  car*  bob  ihe 


THE  TTBAOTL  77 

drew  back  beyond  his  reach  and  stood  with  averted  face,  in- 
sulted by  a  cold  reserve  which  chilled  while  it  maddened  him. 
"  There  is  no  one  like  you,  not  one  of  the  girls  half  so — 
beautiful  and — and — witching — and  though  some  of  'em 
would  speak  me  fair  enough  and  wouldn't  turn  from  me  as 
you  do,  I  can't  give  a  thought  to  them.  I  can't  get  you  oufc 
of  my  mind  day  or  night.  It's  because  I  love  you,  Kate,  and 
I  want  you!  I've  never  spoke  to  you  before,  but  you've 
known  all  along  how  it's  been  with  me.  You've  known  that 
you  could  do  what  you  liked  with  me.  I'm  like  a  bundle  of 
straw  in  your  hands,  just  to  scatter  abroad  or  bind  together. 
It's  because  I  should  see  you,  look  into  those  great  eyes 


He  stopped  for  lack  of  breath  and  stood  with  clenched 
hands,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face  with  the  look  that  is  as  old 
as  the  hills,  the  look  which  will  burn  in  men's  eyes  when  they 
rest  on  the  woman  they  love  until  the  world  crumbles  into  its 
original  dust  and  ceases  to  be. 

Kate's  face  was  pale,  but  her  eyes  and  her  lips  were  cold. 
His  passionate  words,  and  more  passionate  voice,  awakened  no 
echo  in  her  heart,  no  responsive  love.  His  ardour  repelled 
and  troubled  her,  that  was  all. 

But  with  the  coldness  and  lack  of  expression  was  mingled 
the  subtle  fear  with  which  Dick  Eeeve  was  regarded  by 
nearly  all  who  knew  him.  He  was  more  than  half  a  gipsy — 
his  mother  had  been  a  member  of  the  nomadic  race,  and  his 
father  had  a  touch  of  the  Zingari  blood  in  his  veins — and 
Dick  Reeve  had  inherited  that  singular  power  of  influencing 
others  for  good  or  evil  which  belongs  to  his  people.-  The  man 
was  a  ne'er-do-well,  a  poacher  and  idler,  the  kind  of  man 
such  a  girl  as  Kate  Transom — who  had  done  well  at  the  Board 
School — should  have  been  able  to  dismiss  with  a  word  or  two; 
but  she  found  the  word  or  two  difficult  to  speak.  Then,, 
again,  a  girl  is  strangely  moved  by  her  first  declaration  of 
Jove,  from  whomsoever  it  may  come.  It  is  the  crown  of  her 
womanhood,  the  acknowledgment  of  her  sovereignty.  The 
words  "  I  love  you!"  from  the  lips  of  any  man  make  a  girl  a 
queen  amongst  women. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Kate?"  he  demanded,  his  swarthy  face 
pale  with  emotion,  his  dark  eyes  glaring  with  mingled  hope 
and  fear.  "  If  you'll  say  '  yes,'  if  you'll  be  my  wife,  I  swear 
I'll  maktjoa  happy.  I'll  give  up  the  poaching  and  the  pub- 


78  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

He ;  I'll  get  work  on  the  estate,  and  I'll  settle  down  with  the 

best  o'  them.    Come  now !  speak  me  fair " 

He  was  foolish  enough  to  take  hold  of  her  arm.  Now, 
when  a  girl  loves  a  man,  his  touch  turns  her  heart  to  water 
and  she  is  just  as  potters'  clay  in  his  hands;  but  if  she  does 
not  love  him,  the  touch  arouses  all  her  antagonism,  all  her 
maiden  strength  and  ferocity. 

At  his  touch,  Kate  shuddered  and  wrenched  herself  free, 
the  color  flooding  her  face  for  one  moment,  the  next  leav- 
ing it  white  and  cold. 

His  hand  dropped  from  her  round,  warm  arm,  and  his 
face  darkened. 

"You  don't  love  me !"  he  said,  fiercely.  "And  I  love 
you  better  than  life  itself!" 

She  made  a  petulant  movement. 

"It's  no  time  to  speak  of — what  you've  been  speaking.  I'm 
anxious  about  father " 

"Your  father's  all  right;  and  he's  a  friend  of  mine,  Kate. 
Say  that  I've  got  a  chance,  just  a  chance 

"No !"  she  broke  in.  "I  can't !  I  don't  want  to  love  any- 
body." 

His  face  darkened,  and  his  eyes  lost  the  yellow  bar  in  their 
blackness. 

"There's  no  one  else,  Kate,  is  there?"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"I've  watched  you  all  the  time,  and  I  haven't  seen  any  one. 
But" — he  swore  one  of  the  simple  country  oaths  before 
which  the  London  oath  waxes  pale — "but  if  there  should  be, 
he'd  better  look  out  for  himself !  Whoever  he  is,  he's  got  to 
reckon  with  Dick  Reeve !" 

She  drew  herself  up  proudly,  and  the  color  flooded  her 
face. 

"There  is  no  one  else,"  she  said,  with  an  indrawing  of  her 
breath.  "There  is  no  one." 

Then  she  paused. 

"I'm  glad  of  it,  for  his  sake,  whoever  he  might  be,"  he 
said,  with  a  savage  snarl.  "If  I  thought  there  was  another 
man " 

White  to  the  lips,  she  shrank  back  from  his  menace ;  but 
before  she  could  speak,  the  door  opened,  and  her  father 
came  in. 

"It's  late,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  beea 
lost  in  thought. 

Dick  Reeve  nodded  in  assent. 

"Good-night,  old  man,"  he  said.    "Good-night,  Kate." 


THE  TYRANT.  79 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her,  but,  as  if  she  had  not  no* 
ticed  it,  she  turned  aside  and  picked  up  the  lantern. 

She  lighted  her  father  to  his  room,  and  then  went  up  to 
her  own.  It  was  a  tiny  square  under  the  thatch  roof  and 
poorly  furnished.  There  was  just  the  bed,  a  chair,  and  the 
dressing-table  and  wash-stand;  but  it  was  all  scrupulously 
clean  and  neat;  and  a  bunch  of  primroses  on  the  table,  the 
arrangement  of  the  curtains,  together  with  a  shelf  of  books, 
spoke  eloquently  enough  of  the  results  of  a  Board-School 
training. 

Kate  went  to  the  glass — a  small  affair  of  the  cheapest  kind 
— and  began  to  undress.  She  let  down  her  hair,  which  fell 
in  a  marvellous  auburn  torrent,  before  she  looked  in  the  glass; 
then  she  gazed  into  its  murky  depths  with  a  new  and  strange 
solicitude. 

And  she  saw,  not  the  reflection  of  her  own  girlish  beauty, 
but  the  face  and  form  of  the  man  who  had  come  upon  her 
father  in  the  woods. 

Not  for  one  moment  since  she  had  seen  him  had  she  for- 
gotten him.  Even  while  Dick  Reeve  had  been  declaring  his 
love  for  her,  the  handsome,  sun-tanned  face  had  haunted 
her. 

Haunted  her  was  the  only  way  of  expressing  it.  His  voice, 
so  quiet,  so  masterful,  had  rung  in  her  ears,  drowning  that  of 
Dick's,  her  lover's.  He — this  stranger — had  spoken  in  ac- 
cents new  to  her,  in  accents  that  had  stirred  something  hi  the 
depths  of  her  heart.  She  remembered  every  word;  every 
gesture,  every  look  of  his  was  engraven  on  her  mind.  She 
tried  to  forget  him,  to  put  him  away  behind  her  anxiety  about 
her  father,  behind  Dick  Reeve's  avowal  of  love;  but  this 
strange  man,  whom  she  had  seen  only  twice,  thrust  himself 
forwards  and  obliterated  everything  else. 

She  undressed  slowly  and  threw  herself  on  the  bed;  but 
though  she  slept  at  last,  her  very  dreams  were  haunted  by  his 
form  and  face  and  voice. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ESTHER  would  rather  have  died  than  admitted  it,  but  she, 
like  Kate  Transom,  thought  a  great  deal  about  Jack  Gordon, 
the  foreman  of  the  home  farm.  There  was  something  about 
the  young  fellow  which,  as  she  would  have  put  it,  "  got  on 
her  nerves."  He  was  so  terribly  good-looking,  and  his  deep 
Voice  waa  so  musical.  And  with  all  his  roughness,  he  seemed 


80  LOfE,  THE  TYBASTTo 

so  genotewid  tender-hearted:  see  what  care  nt>  dad  taken  of 
her  in  the  axe  business,  and  how  fond  he  was  of  his  dog! 

But  all  the  same,  she  told  herself  that  she  did  not  approve  of 
him;  he  was  far  too  rough  and  brusque.  Why,  he  had  almost 
been  rude  and  disrespectful  to  her,  Miss  Esther  Vancourt  of 
the  Towers,  if  you  please,  his  mistress.  She  made  up  her 
mind  that  the  next  time  she  met  him  she  would  snub  him 
and  put  him  in  his  proper  place.  But  the  worst  of  it  was  she 
had  snubbed  him  more  man  once,  and  he  didn't  seem  to 
care;  he  had  even  argued  with  her  and  opposed  her  will;  he 
had  almost  forced  the  axe  from  her  hand,  she  remembered. 
But,  being  just — which  is  strange  in  a  woman — she  remem- 
bered that  he  had  opposed  her  for  her  own  good;  and — here 
is  a  tip  for  the  too  complacent  young  man  of  the  period — 
women  who  are  worth  having  like  being  opposed  for  their 
own  good. 

No  doubt  her  thoughts  would  have  dwelt  a  great  deal  more 
Hpon  Jack  Gordon  but  for  the  presence  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton. 
In  these  liberal  days  one  gives  even  the  devil  his  due,  and  to 
give  Selby  Layton  his,  one  must  admit  that  he  was  an  ex- 
tremely pleasant  companion.  Esther  and  Miss  Worcester  had, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  been  rather  bored  before  his  ar- 
rival. They  had  been  in  mourning  for  Sir  Kichard,  and 
could  neither  go  out  nor  entertain;  and  the  vast  place,  with 
its  innumerable  rooms  and  tremendous  surroundings,  had 
weighed  upon  them  rather  heavily,  and  the  advent  of  Mr. 
Selby  Layton,  a  man  about  town,  had  come  as  a  pleasant 
relief. 

He  talked  well,  and  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  many  of  which 
were  new  to  Esther;  he  sang  and  played  like  an  angel,  and 
he  showed  b_y  word  and  look  and  gesture  his  evident  desire  to 
win  the  good  graces  of  the  two  ladies.  He  did  not  confine  his 
attentions  to  Esther,  but  directed  them  to  Miss  Worcester, 
with  whom  he  talked  Browning  and  the  Palestine  Explora- 
tion, and  for  whom  he  held  h?"  skein  of  wool. 

He  drove  and  walked  with  the  ladies,  and  was  always  ready 
to  sing  and  play  to  them;  but  being  a  remarkably  astute  young 
man,  he  was  careful  not  to  inflict  much  of  his  presence  upon 
them.  He  went  out  for  long  walks  alone;  and,  as  be  could 
take  a  long  walk  without  going  outside  the  estate,  he  became 
fairly  familiar  with  it,  and  the  more  he  saw  of  it,  the  more 
he  admired  it,  and  longed  for  it. 

At  night,  when  the  ladies  had  gone  to  bed,  he  sat  over  his 
Whiskey  and  soda  and  Sir  Richard's  choice  cigars,  and  plotted 


WJVE,  THE  TYBAOT.  81 

and  planned,  with  one  sole  object  in  view — the  possession  01 

Esther  and  the  Vancourt  estate  and  money. 

Now,  as  they  drove  or  walked,  they  occasionally  came 
across  Jack  Gordon.  Sometimes  he  was  striding  along,  some- 
times he  was  riding  a  half-broken  colt,  riding  it  with  that 
perfect  ease  which  is  only  owned  by  a  Mexican  or  a  back= 
woodsman.  He  always  raised  his  hat  with  marked  if  cold 
respect,  but  Esther,  struggling  with  a  blush,  vouchsafed  him 
only  the  coldest  of  bows,  and  Selby  Layton  touched  his  hat  as 
he  would  to  any  inferior. 

He  knew  nothing  of  Esther's  first  meeting  with  Jack,  and 
never  spoke  of  him.  To  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  astute  as  he  was, 
Jack  Gordon  was  just  the  foreman  of  the  home  farm,  and, 
gentlemanly  and  handsome  as  he  was,  of  no  account. 

But,  charming  companion  as  Selby  Layton  knew  himself 
to  be,  the  time  sometimes  hung  heavily  on  Esther's  hands. 
If  the  truth  must  be  told,  she  actually  missed  in  this  life  of 
luxury  and  ease  the  past  daily  drudgery  of  music-teaching. 
One  day,  while  looking  listlessly  through  one  of  her  many 
wardrobes,  she  came  upon  a  riding-habit.  She  had  ordered 
it  because  her  tailor  had  told  her  that  she  would  need  it, 
though  she  had  never  been  on  a  horse  in  her  life.  As  she 
looked  at  it,  she  was  struck  by  the  idea  that  the  mistress  of 
Vancourt  Towers  ought  to  be  able  to  ride,  ought  very  pos- 
sibly to  be  able  to  hunt,  and  she  got  out  the  habit  and  put 
it  on. 

There  is  no  costume,  which  even  Worth  himself  can  invent, 
11  which  a  young  and  graceful  girl  looks  to  better  advantage 
j'iian  in  a  riding-habit.  It  defines  every  curve  of  the  figure; 
its  severe  lines  and  colour  set  off  a  girl's  beauty,  if  she  has 
any,  and  Esther  was  very  beautiful. 

She  looked  at  herself  approvingly  for  a  minute  or  two,  then 
she  got  back  into  her  morning  frock  and  went  down-stairs. 
Mr.  Selby  Layton  was  smoking  a  cigarette  on  the  terrace, 
and  discussing  the  last  library  book  which  Miss  Worcester  was 
reading. 

Esther  went  up  to  them  and  looked  round  wistfully. 

"  What  a  lovely  morning  for  a  drive — or  a  ride,  Mr.  Lay- 
ton!  Do  you  ride?" 

Someone  had  said,  and  with  a  certain  amount  of  tratb.,  that 
there  are  two  things  which  an  Englishman  will  always  declare 
he  can  do — shoot  and  ride.  Selby  Layton  had  only  been  on 
a  horse  two  or  three  times  in  his  life,  but  he  replied,  unhesi- 
tatingly: 

"  On,  yes',  delightful  exercise  riding,  isn' 


82  L07E,  TgR  TTBAOT» 

Esther  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know;  I've  never  been  on  a  horse  in  my  life;  but 
I  should  like  to  try,  and  we'll  go  for  a  ride,  if  you're  sure  you 
won't  be  bored  by  a  beginner." 

"  That  would  be  impossible!"  said  Selby  Layton,  with  his 
sweet  smile. 

"  My  dear  Esther,  pray  be  careful,"  implored  Miss  "Worces- 
ter, nervously.  "  It  is  so  easy  to  meet  with  an  accident,  and 
I  am  sure  that  there  is  not  a  horse  in  the  stable  fit  for  you  to 
ride.  I  looked  in  the  other  day  and  they  all  seemed  quite 
wild ;  and  I  saw  Giles  riding  one  yesterday,  and  it  was  pran- 
cing about  like — like  anything." 

Selby  Layton  smiled  a  sickly  smile;  but  Esther,  who  had 
inherited  the  Vancourt  pluck  as  well  as  the  Towers,  laughed 


"  Oh,  I  daresay  Giles  will  be  able  to  find  me  something 
very  old  and  very  safe,  and  I  may  not  hurt  myself  very  much 
if  I  do  come  off.  How  soon  will  you  be  ready,  Mr.  Layton?" 

"  In  five  minutes,"  he  replied,  with  a  little  bow. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  half  an  hour,  at  least,"  said  Esther. 

She  ran  upstairs,  calling  Marie,  and  in  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  they  had  got  the  habit  on.  She  found  Mr.  Laytcn  in 
knickerbockers,  which  was  his  nearest  approach  to  a  riding- 
suit,  and  they  went  down  to  the  stable;  ne  in  inward  trepida- 
tion, Esther  with  that  light-heartedness  which  is  born  of 
ignorance.  They  found  Giles  superintending  the  grooming  of 
a  horse  by  one  of  the  under-hands. 

"  Giles,  we  are  going  for  a  ride,"  said  Esther.  "  I  want 
quite  a  safe  and  sober  horse;  but  you  must  give  Mr.  Layton  a 
good  one." 

Selby  Layton's  heart  misgave  him,  but  he  smacked  his  leg 
with  the  whip  he  had  taken  from  the  hall  and  tried  to  look  at 
his  ease.  Giles  touched  his  forehead  and  looked  doubtful 
for  a  moment,  then  he  led  the  way  to  the  stables. 

"  'Ere's  a  mare  as  would  suit  you,  miss,"  he  said.  "  She's 
old,  but  she's  steady  and  sure-footed,  and  she's  been  used  to 
carrying  a  lady.  There's  no  difficulty  in  fitting  you,  sir;  I'll 
saddle  the  chestnut  you  saw  me  on  yesterday." 

Selby  Layton's  heart  grew  heavier,  for  when  he  had  seen 
Giles  yesterday,  the  chestnut  was  prancing  and  rearing  in  an 
alarming  fashion.  Esther  went  up  to  the  old  mare  and  patted 
her  and  rubbed  her  nose. 

"  You  must  be  very  good  with  me,"  she  said  confiden- 
tially; "because  I  don't  know  anything  about  riding  or 


I0VE,  THE  TYRANT.  83 

horses,  and  if  you  aren't  very  careful,  my  dear,  I  shall  come 
off." 

"  There's  no  fear,  miss,"  said  Giles.  "  Old  Polly  will 
carry  you  right  enough,  if  you  don't  press  too  hard  on  h«r 
mouth.  Give  her  her  head  and  she'll  carry  you  like  an  arm- 
chair." 

The  horses  were  saddled  with  the  alacrity  with  which  all 
the  servants  of  the  Towers  waited  upon  their  mistress,  and 
Giles  stood  aside  waiting  for  Mr.  Selby  Layton  to  put  Esther 
in  her  saddle.  It  is  a  very  simple  performance— if  you  know 
all  about  it:  Selby  Layton  didn't.  He  made  two  or  three 
bungling  attempts,  and  then  Giles,  who  had  been  watching 
him  rather  curiously,  came  forward,  showed  Esther  how  to 
put  her  foot  on  his  knee  and  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
tipped  her  easily  into  the  saddle. 

"  You  hold  your  reins  this  way,  miss,"  he  said.  "  Hold 
'em  loosely,  and  don't  fret  the  old  mare." 

Then  he  went  to  Selby  Layton  who,  after  many  vain  at- 
tempts, had  got  into  his  saddle,  and,  still  eyeing  him  curi- 
ously, said: 

"  Keep  your  horse  well  in  hand,  sir;  but  don't  let  Miss 
Vancourt  press  the  mare." 

Selby  Layton  smiled  in  a  would-be  superior  fashion  and  the 
chestnut  sidled  out  of  the  stable  court-yard,  followed  demure- 
ly by  the  mare.  Giles  looked  after  them  critically  and  rather 
doubtfully. 

"  Gentleman  don't  look  much  of  a  'orseman,  Mr.  Giles,** 
remarked  his  second  in  command. 

"  Rides  like  a  d d  tailor,"  responded  Giles,  contemptu- 
ously. "  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  comes  off.  But  Miss  Van- 
court's  all  right,  if  she  don't  curb  the  mare.  PVaps  I'd 
better  gone  with  'em.  It's  too  late  now,  though." 

The  chestnut  was  young  and  though  free  from  vice,  full  of 
frolic.  A  good  rider  would  have  enjoyed  his  gamesome- 
ness  and  would  have  allowed  him  to  dance  around  and 
get  rid  of  his  superfluous  spirits;  but  every  erratic  move- 
ment of  the  horse  filled  Selby  Layton  with  fear  up  to  his 
back  teeth,  and  he  tried  to  check  him,  which  only  fretted  the 
chestnut  and  told  it  plainly  that  he  had  an  inexperienced 
horseman  on  his  back.  Polly  plodded  on  steadily  and  me- 
thodically, and  Esther,  with  heightened  colour  and  dancing 
eyes,  which  at  another  time  would  have  aroused  Selby  Lay- 
ton's  artistic  admiration,  exclaimed: 

"  How  jolly  it  is,  isn't  it?    I'd  no  idea  riding  was  so  de- 


84  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

lightfoL  1  toxiafl  go  in  for  it;  I  shall  ride  every  day.  Bo*-  * 
wish  I  could  ride  Eke  you!" 

"  Y-e-s,"  jerked  out  Selby  Layton,  with  an  affectation  of 
ease,  but  with  a  sinking  at  his  heart.  "  It's  a  delightful  ex» 
ercise,  and  you'll  soon  get  into  it." 

As  he  spoke,  the  chestnut  gave  a  little  bound,  and  he  nearly 
came  off.  He  tugged  at  the  curb,  and  the  horse  rose,  amazed 
by  such  treatment. 

"  Your  horse  seems  very  fresh,"  remarked  Esther,  inno- 
cently. 

"  Y-e-s;  but  he'll  be  all  right  directly,"  stammered  Selby 
Layton.  "  I — I  haven't  ridden  for  some  time.  Whoa! 
Steady;  whoa!" 

In  happy  ignorance  of  her  companion's  incapacity,  Esther 
rode  on  gaily,  the  mare  going  steadily,  the  chestnut  prancing 
and  fidgetting  at  the  ill-managed  curb.  They  went  down  the 
avenue,  the  pride  of  so  many  Vancourts,  and  got  on  to  the 
road.  Esther  rode  badly,  of  course;  but  the  mare's  paces 
were  easy,  and  presently  she  began  to  get  into  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  trot;  and  while  Selby  Layton  jogged  and  shook 
beside  her,  she,  on  a  quieter  horse,  went  pretty  comfortably. 
At  the  end  of  the  road  they  came  upon  the  open  common  over 
which  she  was  lady  of  the  manor,  and  the  mare  naturally 
went  for  the  grass  in  preference  to  the  hard  road. 

On  the  hard  gravel  the  chestnut  had  been  fidgetty  enough, 
but,  when  it  felt  the  springy  turf  beneath  its  feet,  it  became 
more  restless  and  impatient.  Esther  looked  at  it. 

"  I  think  your  horse  wants  to  go,  Mr.  Layton,"  she  said. 
"  Shall  we  try  a  canter  or  a  gallop,  or  whatever  they  call  it? 
'I  think  I  can  stick  on;  and  if  I  can't,  it  won't  matter  on  this 
grass," 

"  Pray — be  careful — my  dear  Miss — yancourt,"  he  im- 
plored, jerkily,  the  sweat  gathering  on  his  face;  but  Esther 
touched  her  mare  with  the  whip,  and  Polly  broke  into  a 
canter — a  gentle  cantor  which  Esther  found  delightfully  easy. 

"  It  is  delicious!"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  wonder  peo- 
ple are  fond  of  riding!  Are  you  enjoying  it,  Mr.  Layton?" 

Mr.  Layton  was  anything  but  enjoying,  but  he  murmured 
"  yes  "and  smiled  a  sickly  smile,  and  tried  all  he  knew  to 
keep  the  chestnut  from  breaking  into  a  gallop.  It  would 
have  been  easy  enough  to  do,  if  he  had  known  anything  about 
it;  but  the  more  Selby  Layton  pulled  at  the  curb,  the  more 
the  chestnut  chafed  and  fought  for  its  head,  and  presently  it 
got  away  and  bounded  in  front. 

Polly,  obejing  its  instinctive  desire  to  keep  alongside  ita 


LOVE,   THE  TTBAUT.  85 

stable  companion,  also  took  to  a  gallop.  Esther,  half 
amused,  half  alarmed,  tried  to  pall  it  up,  and,  of  course,  dis- 
obeyed Giles's  injunction  and  put  the  curb  on  too  tightly. 
Polly  looked  surprised  for  a  moment,  then  shook  her  head 
impatiently  and  increased  the  pace;  Esther  pulled  a  little 
harder,  and  the  mare,  who,  though  she  was  old  was  well-bred, 
got  puzzled  and  argry,  and  quickened  her  stride. 

The  chestnut  heard  her  behind  and  tore  along  at  a  racing 
pace,  with  Mr.  Selby  Layton  hanging  on  with  white  face  and 
trembling  limbs.  Esther  felt  as  if  she  were  going  to  fall,  but 
her  courage  did  not  fail  her.  The  swift  pace,  the  flying  land- 
scape, the  beat  of  the  mare's  hoofs  upon  the  springy  turf,  pro- 
duced a  sense  of  exhilaration;  and  though  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  doubt  in  her  mind,  there  was  absolutely  no  fear. 

At  the  end  of  the  common,  the  chestnut,  which  had  about 
enough  of  it,  decided  that  it  would  go  home,  and  turned 
swiftly  and  sharply  in  the  direction  of  its  beloved  stable;  its 
rider  being  no  more  able  to  check  it  than  a  fly.  Polly  sverved 
too,  and  Esther  nearly  came  off;  but  she  gripped  the  pommel 
and  held  on  somehow  or  other,  and  to  her  credit  be  it  said, 
laughed  at  her  helplessness. 

As  they  went  up  a  hill,  the  horses,  which  were  by  no  means 
bolting,  though  they  were  going  fast,  slackened  a  bit,  and  a 
good  rider  could  have  got  the  chestnut  in  hand  easily  enough; 
but  Mr.  Selby  Layton  was  in  a  mortal  funk,  and  the  chestnut 
knew  it  and  of  course  took  advantage  of  it.  When  they  got 
to  the  top  of  the  hill,  the  horse  rushed  forward  again,  with 
his  stable  in  his  mind,  and  the  mare  followed. 

It  is  not  easy  for  a  beginner — though  he  or  she  always  has 
the  luck,  whether  it  be  at  cards,  billiards  or  riding — to  go  at 
full  pace  down  a  hill,  and  Esther  found  herself  swaying  in  a 
dangerous  fashion.  She  had  got  half-way  down  when  she  saw 
a  horseman  cantering  across  the  fields  on  her  left.  Even  at 
that  moment,  she  recognised  him;  it  was  Jack  Gordon  riding 
the  unbroken  colt;  and  even  s.t  that  moment,  she  noticed  and 
admired  enviously  the  ease  and  grace  with  which  he  rode. 

He  pulled  up  as  he  saw  them,  then  suddenly  he  seemed  to 
recognise  her  danger,  for  he  touched  the  colt  with  his  heel 
and  bounded  forward,  and  Esther  saw  him  coming  towards 
her  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow.  He  rode  at  a  slant,  with  the 
evident  intention  of  heading  her;  but  Esther  felt  sure  he 
could  not  reach  her,  for  there  was  a  fairly  high  hedge  be- 
tween the  field  and  the  road. 

Jack  was  quite  as  aware  of  the  hedge  as  she  was,  and  he 
was  not  at  all  sure  that  the  colt,  which  was  only  half-bred, 


86  LOVE,  THE  TYUAJTT. 

would  ftoe  it;  but  he  held  the  young  thing  well  in  hand,  and 
as  they  approached  the  obstacle  he  drove  the  spurs  in  and 
lifted  the  colt  with  a  word  of  encouragement.  It  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  then  it  rose,  cleared  the  hedge  like  a  bird,  and 
landed  Jack  within  a  few  paces  of  the  m'are. 

Long  ago  he  had  seen  that  Esther  could  not  ride,  and  he 
called  out  in  a  voice  of  command: 

"  Sit  tight,  and  don't  be  afraid!" 

Then  he  put  the  colt  to  its  utmost,  overtook  the  mare,  and 
rode  beside  it  for  a  moment  or  two  before  he  slid  his  hand 
along  the  mare's  bridle  and  gradually,  with  perfect  ease, 
brought  it  to  a  standstill. 

Esther  jogged  and  jumped  in  her  saddle,  then  she  looked 
at  Jack,  at  the  man  who  had  rescued  her,  and  laughed  with  a 
mingled  sense  of  relief  and  annoyance.  Her  hat  was  on  one 
side,  her  wonderful  hair  had  half  escaped  from  its  coil,  her 
face  was  flushed,  her  lips  parted:  she  looked  lovely  and  be- 
witching enough  to  stir  the  pulses  of  any  man;  but  Jack  was 
not  thinking  of  her  beauty  but  of  her  audacity  and  the  risk 
from  which  he  had  saved  her. 

"  That's  not  the  pace  to  come  down  a  hill,"  he  said, 
almost  roughly.  "  On  an  old  horse,  too.  If  she'd  stumbled, 
where  woufd  you  have  been?" 

At  another  time,  Esther  would  certainly  have  resented  his 
Freeeh  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered;  but  she  was  too 
fnrried  now  for  resentment. 

4*  On  my  head,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh  that 
c  \wered  in  spite  of  herself.  "  It's  the  first  time  I've  been  on 
horseback — " 

"  So  I  should  say,"  Jack  broke  in.  "  But  why  on  earth 
didn't  you  go  with  a  man  who  knew  the  ropes?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  with  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  who  knows  how  to 
ride,"  she  said. 

Jack  looked  after  the  disappearing  chestnut,  whose  rider 
was  clinging  on  to  its  mane  like  grim  death,  and  smiled 
grimly. 

"  Oh!  does  he?    It  looks  like  it!" 

Esther  glanced  after  the  vanishing  horseman  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  can't  he?    Do  you  think  he'll  come  to  any  harm?" 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  curtly.  "  His  horse  is  slackening  off. 
He'll  take  him  to  the  stables  safe  enough.  What  on  earth 
possessed  you,  who  can't  ride,  to  go  out  alone  with  him?" 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  Esther,  almost  meekly.  "  Need 
you  hold  my  bridle?" 

The  mare  was  fidgetting  to  rejoin  her  companion. 


LOT*,  THE  TYRANT.  87 

"Yes,"  laid  Jack.  "She  may  bolt,  or  she  mayr't;  so  I 
won't  chance  it.  Loosen  your  reins;  you're  fretting  her. 
Miss  Vancourt,  you  have  been  very  foolish.  You  might  have 
had  a  serious  accident.  If  you  wanted  to  ride,  and  didn't 
know  anything  about  i<,  why  didn't  you  take  lessons?" 

"Whom  could  I  take  lessons  of?"  asked  Esther.  "I  didn't 
know  there  was  any  danger." 

"I'll  teach  you,"  said  Jack,  thoughtlessly. 

"Oh,  but  wouldn't  it  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble?"  asked 
Esther,  with  a  mock  humility  which  was  lost  upon  Jack,  who 
was  only  a  mere  man. 

"I  daresay,"  he  said;  "but  I  don't  mind.  Anything's 
better  than  that  you  should  risk  your  neck  in  this  absurd 
fashion." 

They  had  ridden  on,  and  by  this  time  they  had  reached 
the  home  farm. 

"If  you  have  done  scolding  me,  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  Esther, 
with  dangerous  sweetness,  "I'll  ride  home." 

"All  right,"  said  Jack,  "I'll  go  with  you." 

She  said  nothing  to  this;  but  as  they  reached  the  lodge, 
Mrs.  Martin  came  out  with  Nettie  in  her  arms;  and  at  sight 
of  Jack  the  child  set  up  a  cry  of  welcome. 

"Here  I  am,  Jack,  quite  ready,"  she  said. 

"Can't  take  you  now,"  said  Jack.  "Promised  to  carry  her 
out  for  a  little  while,"  he  explained  to  Esther. 

She  pulled  up  at  once. 

"You  sha'n't  break  your  word.    I  can  ride  home,  all  right." 

"No,"  said  Jack.  "It's  not  far;  you  can  walk.  I  won't 
trust  you  out  of  my  sight." 

She  tried  to  look  at  him  haughtily ;  but  somehow  or  other 
the  look  broke  down. 

"Very  well,  I'll  walk,"  she  said 

Jack  gave  the  two  horses  into  Georgie's  care,  and  took 
Nettie  in  his  arms,  and  he  and  Esther  walked  side  by  side 
towards  the  Towers.  They  were  very  silent,  but  Nettie  did 
all  the  talking  that  was  necessary. 

"I  thought  oo'd  never  come,  Jack,"  she  said,  "and  I  was 
nearly  kying;  but  mother  said  you  was  sure  to  come,  'cos 
she's  never  known  you  break  your  word.  How  nicely  you 
carry  me !  Isn't  he  strong,  Miss  Vancourt,  and  isn't  he  nice  ? 
I  love  Jack;  don't  you,  Miss  Vancourt?" 

The  blood  suff used  Esther's  face,  but  Jack  did  not  seem 
at  all  embarrassed. 


88  "MOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  Little  girls  should  never  ask  personal  questions,  Hettie. 
my  child!"  he  said. 

"  No?"  said  Nettie.  "  I'm  sorry,  but  I  like  you,  Jack, 
and  so  ought  she,  'cos  you're  good  and  kind." 

Jack  said  nothing  to  this  but  hoisted  her  into  a  more  com- 
fortable position.  They  entered  the  wood,  Esther  with  rathei 
a  downcast  face,  for  the  child's  remark  had  embarrassed  her, 

"  Isn't  she  heavy?"  she  asked.     "  Let  me  carry  her!" 

"  She's  like  a  feather,"  said  Jack.  "  You're  all  right, 
Nettie,  eh?" 

"  Quite  comfy,"  said  Nettie.  "  If  oo'll  bend  your  head, 
Jack,  I'll  give  you  a  tiss." 

Jack  bent  his  head  and  she  kissed  him. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  tiss  him  too,  Miss  Vancourt?"  said 
Nettie.  "  Mother  says  he  saved  your  life;  she  saw  him  catch 
your  horse  on  the  hill." 

Esther's  face  flamed.  Jack  put  his  hand  over  the  child's 
mouth. 

"  Shut  up,  Nettie,"  he  said,  quite  calmly.  "  You  are 
talking  nonsense." 

Eat  though  he  was  calm,  Esther  was  trembling,  and  she 
glanced  at  him  under  her  long  lashes.  Jack  did  not  see  thu 
glance;  but  it  was  seen  and  noted  by  Kate  Transom,  who, 
sheltered  by  a  tree,  was  looking  at  them.  She  had  been 
gathering  sticks,  a  bundle  of  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  and 
she  had  drawn  out  of  sight  and  watched  them.  She  caught 
the  glance,  which  passed  unnoticed  by  Jack,  and  it  was  like  a 
dart  piercing  her  bosom.  She  shrank  behind  the  tree;  her 
face  paled  suddenly,  and  her  hand,  which  held  her  shawl 
gripped  at  her  heart  as  well. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Now,  while  Esther  was  walking  through  the  wood  with 
Jack  and  Nettie  of  the  embarrassing  remarks,  the  chestnut 
had  raced  homewards  with  about  as  much  regard  to  the  un- 
fortunate man  on  his  back  as  if  he  were  a  fly.  Mr.  Selby 
Layton  clung  on  to  the  mane  like  grim  death,  but,  all  the 
same,  was  nearly  flung  over  the  horse's  head  as  it  tore  into 
the  stable-yard  and  stopped  suddenly  at  the  door  of  its  own 
stall. 

Giles  and  some  of  stable-helps  rushed  to  Mr.  Selby  Lay- 
ton's  assistance,  and  he  got  down  and  stood  surveying  the 
hateful  animal  with  mingled  fear  and  rage.  He  was  bathed 
in  peispiratio.n  which  trickled  in  a  muddy  channel  down  his 


WYE,  THE  TYBA1TP. 

bafc  face;  his  wd&r  had  come  undone,  his  neck-scarf  was  all 
awry,  and  he  was  trembling  with  fright  and  exhaustion;  in- 
deed, he  was  such  a  pitiable-looking  object  that  even  Giles, 
full  of  contempt  as  he  was,  could  scarcely  refrain  from  com- 
passionating him. 

"  That  horse  is  a  vicious  animal,  and  extremely  dangerous," 
said  Mr.  Lay  ton,  when  he  could  speak.  "  He  bolted  with 
me,  and  would  have  broken  my  neck  if  I  hadn't  been  able  to 
hold  on." 

Giles  was  too  well-trained  a  servant  to  show  his  contempt. 

"Very  sorry,  sir;  never  know  Mm  to  bolt  before;  he  is 
rather  free,  but  he  only  wants  a  little  managing.  Where's 
Miss  Van  court,  sir?  I  hope  she's  safe." 

Selby  Layton  had  been  too  much  occupied  in  thinking  of 
his  own  safety  to  bestow  a  thought  upon  Esther;  and  he 
looked  round,  as  if  he  expected  to  see  her  immediately  be- 
hind him. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  stammered,  "  she  was  just  behind  me.  Her 
horse  was  quite  quiet." 

"  Miss  Vancourt  is  just  coming  through  the  wood,  sir," 
said  one  of  the  stablemen.  "  She  is  walking." 

Selby  Layton  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  have  been 
able  to  avoid  Esther's  eye,  or  any  eye,  in  his  present  condi- 
tion; but  that  was  not  possible;  so  he  went  to  meet  her,  but- 
toning his  collar,  setting  his  tie  straight,  and  trying  to  mop 
himself  into  a  semblance  of  coolness. 

He  was  still  full  of  inward  rage  and  self-reproach.  He  had 
been  an  awful  fool  to  venture  upon  a  horse  when  he  knew  so 
little  about  riding;  the  whole  business  was  most  unfortunate; 
for  Selby  Layton  was  too  clever  not  to  know  that  nothing  is 
more  disastrous  for  a  man  than  to  appear  ridiculous  in  the 
eyes  of  a  woman.  Why  hadn't  he  been  content  to  confine 
himself  to  his  singing  and  playing  and  other  "  parlour 
tricks,"  and  left  the  noble  art  of  horsemanship  to  commoner 
men? 

As  he  crossed  the  lawn  he  saw  that  Esther  was  not  alone, 
and  the  fact  that  her  companion  was  that  "  impudent  fel- 
low "  from  the  farm,  as  Selby  Layton  called  him,  did  not 
tend  to  make  him  more  cheerful;  bnt  he  smoothed  the 
nasty  twist  from  his  lips  and  assumed  an  expression  of 
tender  anxiety  as  he  drew  near.  Esther  did  not  see 
him  for  a  moment,  for  she  was  talking  and  laughing  with 
Nettie,  and  seemed  quite  absorbed  in  the  child;  and  she 
looked  up  as  Selby  Layton  appeared,  as  if  she  had  quite  for* 
w  they  had  parted. 


90  ^  I0VE,  THE  TYSAUT. 

"  I  do  hope  you  are  not  hurt!'*  he  exclaimed,  anxionsly. 

*'  Oh,  not    rn  the  least,"  replied  Esther.     "  Were  y 
hurt?"' 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Selby  Layton,  with  a  beautiful  air  of  con- 
fidence. "  My  horse  bolted;  but,  though  I  had  him  in  hand 
all  the  time,  I  thought  it  better  to  ride  home,  in  case  he 
should  startle  your  mare.  I  hope  he  did  not?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Esther.  "  She  was  going  very  fast, 
and  I  lost  all  control  over  her,  and  I  suppose  I  should  have 
come  off;  but  Mr.  Gordon  happened  to  oe  riding  near,  and 
he  caught  her  and  took  charge  of  me." 

This  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  Selby  Layton;  but  he 
smiled  sweetly  and  nodded  quite  pleasantly  to  Jack. 

"  That  was  very  fortunate,"  he  remarked;  "though  the 
mare  is  so  quiet  that  I  don't  suppose  anything  would  have 
happened." 

Jack  stood,  with  that  impassive  countenance  which  he  could 
assume  when  it  suited  him,  and  did  not  contradict  Mr. 
Layton. 

"  I  think  we'll  go  back  now,  Nettie,"  he  said;  but  Nettie 
met  the  suggestion  with  a  distinct  negative. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  back,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  see  the 
peacocks  on  the  tewace  the  pretty  lady's  been  telling  us 
about." 

Esther  blushed  slightly  at  this  candid  tribute  to  her  per- 
sonal appearance,  and,  with  a  laugh,  said: 

"  Better  bring  her  on  to  the  terrace,  Mr.  Gordon;  she 
won't  be  happy  it  you  don't." 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Jack,  severely.  "  Nettie's  getting 
spoilt.  But  you  wait,  young  lady,  till  you're  quite  clear  of 
the  measles,  you'll  find  you  won't  have  your  own  way  quite 
so  much!" 

Nettie  laughed  incredulously,  and  hugged  his  neck  a  little 
tighter. 

"  I  ain't  afwaid,"  she  said. 

They  walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  terrace,  and  Nettie 
gave  a  little  cry  of  delight  as  she  saw  the  peacocks  basking  in 
the  sun. 

"  Put  her  down  on  one  of  the  seats,  Mr.  Gordon,"  saic1 
Esther;  "  you  must  be  tired  with  carrying  her  so  far." 

'*  I  am  worn  out,"  said  Jack,  with  a  mock  groan. 

'*  What  a  story!"  exclaimed  Nettie,  indignantly.  "  He 
tarries  me  ever  so  much  fairer  than  this  every  evening;  don't 
YOU,  Jack?" 


VOTE,  T3E  TYRAIfc  91 

The  "  Jack  *  scunded  strangely  to  Esther,  but  very  pleas- 
antly, as  it  was  uttered  by  the  child's  sweet  and  loving  voice 

*'  Now  you  can  see  the  peacocks  and  the  flowers,"  she  said; 
"  and  I  wonder  whether  you'd  like  a  glass  of  milk  and  some 
cake?  I  suppose  she  may  have  it?"  to  Jack. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  cheerfully;  "  she  is  eating  all  day, 
like  a  little  pig." 

At  this  moment,  Palmer  came  from  the  house  in  his  stately 
fashion,  and  presented  a  letter  to  Selby  Layton,  who  was  look- 
ing at  the  child  with  a  sweet  smile  that  masked  his  disgust 
and  annoyance  at  the  whole  business. 

He  took  the  letter,  and  with  a  murmnred  request  for  per- 
mission, opened  it.  For  a  moment,  as  he  read  it,  the  smile 
fled  from  his  face,  which  grew  pale,  notwithstanding  his  heat. 

"  It's  of  no  consequence,"  he  said,  casually;  "  but  perhaps 
I'd  better  answer  it  by  this  post.  I  shall  just  have  time." 

"  Do,  by  all  means,"  said  Esther.  "  Will  you  please  send 
out  some  milk  and  cake,  Palmer?" 

When  Selby  Layton  had  gone  into  the  house,  she  seated 
herself  by  Nettie,  drawing  the  child  towards  her  and  carefully 
wrapping  the  shawl  round  her.  Jack  stood  by  them  for  a 
moment,  then  he  began  to  feel  himself  in  the  way. 

"  I  want  a  word  with  Giles,  Miss  Vanconrt,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
go  down  to  the  stables,  and  come  back  for  Nettie  presently." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Esther,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  think  you'd 
make  a  very  good  nurse,  Mr.  Gordon." 

Jack  thought  of  the  many  weeks  he  had  nursed  his  chum, 
this  girl's  brother,  and  smiled  rather  gravely,  but  said  noth- 
ing. He  went  down  to  the  stable  and  found  Giles  and  his 
satellites  gathered  round  the  chestnut.  Giles  had  been  ex- 
pressing himself  with  a  freedom  which  he  had  not  permitted 
nimself  in  Mr.  Lav  ton's  presence. 

;-  What's  the  matter  with  the  chestnut,  Giles?"  asked 
Jack. 

Giles  touched  his  cap,  as  he  always  did  instinctively  when 
he  met  Jack,  and  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  There  ain't  anythink  the  matter  with  him;  but  there 
Boon  will  be  if  he's  "allowed  to  have  his  way  like  this,"  he 
said.  "  Any  horse  would  be  spoilt  as  was  allowed  to  rampage 
round  the  country  as  he  pleases.  Next  time  he  goes  out  he'll 
want  to  do  the  same  thing.  It's  a  wonder  the  gentleman 
didn't  break  his  neck.  It  ain't  for  me  to  make  remarks  about 
my  betters,  but  I  do  call  it  cheek  for  a  gent  to  get  on  a  horse 
when  he  can't  ride  no  more  than  a  new-born  baby;  and  I 
wasn't  much,  better  than  a  blessed  infant  to  let  him  go;  for  I 


92  I0VE,  THE  TTBAUT/ 

saw  bow  it  wad  when  he  got  up.  And  where's  thw  mare,  I 
should  like  to  know?" 

"  The  mare's  af,  the  farm  all  right;  you'd  batter  send  down 
for  her,"  said  Jack.  '*  Put  the  saddle  on  the  chestnut 
again,  will  you?" 

Giles  obeyed  at  once,  though  it  was  scarcely  the  plfuce  for 
the  foreman  of  the  home  farm  to  give  orders  to  Miss  Van- 
court's  servants.  But  the  saddle  was  put  on  and  the  stirrups 
adjusted  to  Jack's  long  legs,  and  he  got  on  the  chestnut. 
The  horse  had  had  a  rare  good  time  with  its  late  rider,  and  it 
was  under  the  impression  that  it  might  have  another  witji  the 
present  one;  but  it  discovered  its  mistake  in  less  than  a'min- 
nte  and  a  half. 

He  reared  and  jumped  in  a  fashion  which  would  have  sent 
Mr.  Selby  Layton  flying,  but  only  caused  Jack's  knees  to 
press  inwards  with  a  force  which  nearly  drove  the  breath  out 
of  the  astonished  chestnut.  Jack  took  him  out  of  the  stable- 
yard  and  into  the  park,  let  him  go  quietly  for  awhile,  then 
put  him  to  his  top  speed,  and  kept  him  at  it  long  after  the 
chestnut  had  had  enough. 

"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  jump,  my  friend,"  he  said; 
"let's  see." 

He  put  the  horse  at  the  iron  railing,  and  though  the  animal 
refused  twice,  Jack  got  him  over  the  third  time;  and  he 
jumped  him  backwards  and  forwards  until  the  astonished 
chestnut  was  heartily  sick  and  disgusted;  then  Jack  rode  him 
back  at  a  sweet  and  sober  trot. 

Giles  and  his  merry  men  had  watched  the  performance  with 
feelings  of  profound  satisfaction  and  admiration. 

"  That's  what  I  call  riding,"  said  Giles.  "  Never  saw  a 
better  seat.  And  he  rides  like  a  gentleman,  too.  I  know 
the  difference,  mind  you!  Some  of  you  chaps  can  stick  on 
right  enough,  but  you've  none  of  you  got  that  style.  Wherever 
he  learnt  riding  it  was  a  jolly  good  school,  and  he  was  a  jolly 
good  scholar.  Not  a  bad  horse,  Mr.  Gordon?"  he  said,  as 
Jack  rode  up.  "  He'd  suit  you  down  to  the  ground." 

Jack  nodded  and  suppressed  a  sigh;  and  it  flashed  across 
his  mind,  with  a  strange  sense  of  unreality,  that  net  cnly  the 
chestnut  but  every  horse  in  the  stable  belonged  to  him. 

"  He's  quiet  enough,  and  won't  give  you  any  trouble 
now,"  he  said.  "  I  should  give  him  a  basin  of  gruel  to-night 
after  this  bucketing." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  said  Giles. 

And,  instinctively  again,  he  touched  his  cap. 

A  couple  of  footmea  brought  out  the  milk  and  cake  tar 


I0VE,  THE  TYRANT.  93 

Nettie.  It  would  not  have  been  a  very  hard  task  for  on:; 
tout  everything  was  done  in  a  stately  fashion  at  the  Towers; 
and  Esther  had  at  first  been  somewhat  bothered  and  worried 
by  the  number  of  servants  which  surrounded  her,  and  their 
devoted  though  silent  attention;  but  she  was  getting  used  to 
it  by  this  time,  and  it  did  not  now  surprise  her  or  make  her 
uncomfortable  when  two  men  in  the  rich  but  chaste  Vancourt 
livery  appeared  when  one  would  have  been  sufficient.  They 
brought  the  cake  and  milk  on  heavy  salvers  of  solid  silver, 
and  placed  them  on  a  rustic  table  which  they  dragged  for- 
ward for  the  purpose,  then  retired  with  the  impassive  counte- 
nance which  they  would  have  worn  if  Miss  Vancourt  had  or- 
dered them  to  dance  a  jig. 

Esther  held  the  glass  and  broke  up  the  cake,  and  as  Nettie 
ate  and  drank,  she  talked  as  children  will. 

"  Jack's  a  very  tind  man,"  she  remarked. 

"  Very,  I  should  say,"  assented  Esther.  "  But  ought  you 
to  call  him  '  Jack/  Nettie?  His  name  is  Gordon." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Nettie;  "  but  he  told  me  to  call  him 
Jack,  and  I  like  it  better  than  Mister  Gordon.  Mother  said 
I  wasn't  to  call  him  '  Jack/  beeps,  though  he's  dadda's  fore- 
man, he's  a  gentleman.  What  is  a  gentleman?" 

Ac  this  question,  which  has  puzzled  the  world  ever  since 
the  word  was  invented,  Esther  was  rather  "  flummuxed,"  as 
Jack  himself  would  have  said:  for  who  shall  say  what  a  gen- 
tleman is?  But  she  knew  that  she  would  have  to  answer  the 
question,  and  she  did  her  level  best. 

"A  gentleman,  Nettie,"  she  said,  "is  one  who  is  very 
brave  and  very  true  and  very  gentle;  who  will  never  do  any- 
thing he  is  ashamed  of." 

Nettie  thought  this  over  for  a  minute  or  two  as  she 
munched  her  cake. 

"  Then  I'm  sure  Jack's  a  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  because 
he's  very  brave.  He  stopped  father's  horse,  and  father  said 
he  might  have  been  tilled;  then  he  'urt  himself  with  a  axe, 
that  day  he  went  with  you  to  see  the  trees;  his  shirt  was  all 
over  blood — " 

Esther  started,  and  the  colour  rushed  to  her  face.  In  an 
inspirit  she  remembered  how  her  axe  had  met  something  in 
its  backward  stroke:  she  had  thought  it  was  the  branch  of  a 
tree:  had  she  struck  him?  She  said  nothing,  and  Nettie  went 
on: 

"  And  one  day  I  saw  a  handkerchief  sticking  out  of  his 
mustwafr— ft  tiav  ickla  handkerchief}  and  that  was  all  over 


94  KWE,  TFE  TYRAUT. 

blood;  so  he  most  have  'urt  hisself  again,  and  said  nothing 
about  it." 

The  colour  deepened  on  Esther's  face.  She  remembered 
that  she  had  thrown  her  blood-stained  handkerchief  away. 
Was  it  possible  that  Mr.  Jack  Gordon  had  gone  back  and 
picked  it  up  and  was  carrying  it  about  him?  For  a  moment 
the  thought  was  strangely  sweet  to  her;  then  she  remem- 
bered the  difference  between  them — between  the  man  who 
was  the  foreman  of  her  home  farm,  and  had  been  little  better 
than  a  tramp,  and  herself,  the  mistress  of  Vancourt.  She 
tried  to  feel  proud  and  full  of  resentment  at  his  strange  con- 
duct; but,  somehow  or  other,  there  was  a  warm  feeling  at  her 
heart,  which  puzzled  and  worried  her. 

"  Then  he  is  very  gentle,"  said  Nettie.  "  He  tarries  me 
for  ever  so  long,  and  it's  as  cumfy  as  if  I  was  in  bed — more 
cumfy;  and  when  he  speaks  to  me  his  voice  is  soft,  like 
mother's  when  she  talks  to  the  chickens.  And  what  was  the 
other?  He  t'inks  of  others?  Well,  so  does  Jack.  The 
other  day  Georgie— that  father's  man — 'urt  'is  'and,  and 
Jack  went  and  did  'is  work  for  'im.  And  Jack  won't  tell  a 
lie.  I  'eard  'im  tell  father  that  all  the  things  about  the  farm 
were  old-fashioned  and  no  use,  and  that  if  he  was  father  he'd 
ask  Miss  Vancourt — that's  you — to  buy  a  lot  of  new  things; 
and  father  said  that  Sir  Richard  wouldn't  have  new  things, 
and  that  he — that's  father — had  always  said  they  was  all 
right.  And  Jack  said  that  if  he  was  the  farmer  he  wouldn't 
tell  a  darned  lie  like  that." 

"  You  shouldn't  say  '  darned,'  Nettie,  dear,"  said  Esther. 

"Is  it  a  wicked  word?"  asked  Nettie,  open-eyed.  "I 
don't  t'ink  it  can  be,  'cos  I  astinctly  heard  Jack  say  it.  But 
don't  you  t'ink  Jack's  a  gentleman,  Miss  Vancourt?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  is,"  said  Esther,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Worcester  came  out  from  a  room  in 
the  west  wing. 

"  My  dear  Esther,  have  you  been  riding?"  she  exclaimed. 
"  And  who  is  that  jumping  the  park  railings?  The  horse 
seems  dreadfully  wild,  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  there 
was  an  accident.  Who  is  this  little  girl?" 

"  Nettie  Martin,"  replied  Esther.  She  got  up  and  went 
to  the  end  of  the  terrace  from  whence  Miss  Worcester  had 
come,  and  from  that  point  saw  Jack,  deeming  himself  quite 
unseen,  riding  the  chestnut.  She  leant  against  the  balustrade 
and  watched  him.  Quite  ignorant  of  any  observant  eye,  Jack 
was  taking  the  chestnut  over  the  railings  again  and  again, 
and,  «B  he  rode  like  a  Mexican  or  an  Amtndian 


LOVE,  THE  TYBANT.  '  95 

Better  riders — the  sight  was  a  pretty  one,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  and  Esther  looked  on  with  a  sense  of  admiration.  Horse 
and  rider  seemed  one,  and  the  man  was  the  epitome  of  grace 
as  he  sat  the  fiery  horse.  The  child's  words,  innocently 
spoken,  recurred  to  her.  According  to  her  own  formula,  the 
man  was  a  gentleman.  But  he  was  only  her  foreman  of  the 
borne  farm,  an  he  had  no  right  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she 
had  struck  him  with  the  axe,  no  right  to  carry  her  blood- 
stained handkerchief  about.  She  summoned  all  her  pride  to 
her  aid.  The  man  must  be  checked,  snubbed.  She  went 
back  to  Nettie  and  Miss  Worcester,  who  had  already  struck 
up  a  friendship,  for  Miss  Worcester,  with  all  her  dignity  and 
sense  of  position,  had  taken  to  the  candid  and  confiding  mite. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  Esther. 

"  Dear  me!"  said  Miss  Worcester,  disapprovingly,  "  I 
thought  it  was  a  gentleman — some  visitor." 

They  sat  with  the  child  between  them,  and  presently  Jack 
came  back,  looking  quite  cool,  as  if  he  had  only  been  strolling 
about  the  stable-yam.  He  raised  his  hat  to  Miss  Worcester. 

"  I'll  take  Nettie  now,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said. 

Esther  inclined  her  head  coldly,  and  drew  the  shawl  about 
Nettie,  and  Jack  picked  her  up  in  his  arms.  As  he  did  so, 
she  was  attracted  by  the  pictures  in  the  hall  wkich  she  could 
see  through  the  open  door. 

"  What  pretty  pickshers!"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  see 
them!" 

"  Not  now;  another  time!"  said  Jack.  "  I  must  get  back; 
I'm  late  already." 

His  tone  surprised  Miss  Worcester  and  stirred  Esther's 
pride. 

"  Of  course  you  shall  see  them,  Nettie,"  she  said.  "  Bring 
her  into  the  hall,  please,  Mr.  Gordon." 

With  an  imperceptible  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  Jack  fol- 
lowed the  ladies  into  the  hall,  and  Nettie  gazed  round  her 
with  a  mixture  of  childish  awe  and  delight. 

"  What  a  booful  place!"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  didn't  think 
there  was  so  many  pickshers  in  the  whole  world.  And  look 
at  those  funny  men  in  iron!"  She  meant  the  figures  in 
armour.  "  And  what  a  lot  of  books!  What's  that  big  thing 
up  there  with  the  pipes?" 

"  That's  an  organ,  Nettie,"  said  Esther.  "  Come  and  see 
\hese  still  funnier  little  men  in  this  cabinet." 

She  opened  the  door  and  took  out  some  carved  Indian 
figures  and  showed  them  to  her;  bat  Nettie  found  the  pict> 


96  IXJVE,   THE  TYRANT. 

nres  more  attractive,  and  ordered  Jack  to  take  her  nearer  to 
them. 

"  Who  is  that  big  man  with  the  great  boots  and  a  sword?" 
she  asked. 

Esther  had  turned  aside  to  speak  to  a  servant;  and  it  was 
Jack  who,  ransacking  his  memory,  supplied  the  information. 

"  That's  Sir  Randolph  Vancourt,"  he  said.  "  He  fought, 
with  that  sword,  for  the  king,  and  lost  his  life  doing  it.  That 
pretty  lady  next  him  was  his  wife.  I  think  her  name  was 
Isabel.  While  her  husband  was  at  the  wars  she  stayed  at 
home,  here  at  the  Towers,  and  did  a  little  fighting  on  her 
own  account.  The  moat  was  full  of  water  then,  and  she  shut 
the  doors  and  kept  the  people,  who  were  fighting  against  the 
king,  outside.  She  wore  tnt/.  helmet  and  breastplate  you  see 
up  there.  That  gentleman  in  the  wig  was— 1  forget  his 
name — but  he  fought  for  King  George:  with  his  tongue. 
They  called  him  the  Eloquent  Vancourt,  which  means  that  he 
could  jaw  the  hind  leg  off  a  donkey;  and  that  little  boy  with 
the  coat  ever  so  much  too  long  for  him  was  his  son.  He  was 
famous,  too;  he  wrote  a  lot  of  books;  they  are  all  in  the 
library,  and  nobody  reads  them  now." 

"  How  clever  you  are,  what  a  lot  you  know,  Jack!"  re- 
marked Nettie,  admiringly. 

Jack's  river  of  information  dried  up  suddenly,  and  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  apprehensively.  Esther  was  stand- 
ing staring  at  him  with  surprise  and  curiosity;  but  he  only 
lost  his  head  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  able  to  read  all  about  it,  when  yor.'re  older, 
in  the  '  Guide  to  Vancourt  Towers,'  price  sixpence." 

"  You  appear  to  have  read  it,  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  Esther. 

"  Yes;  it's  very  interesting,"  said  Jack,  unblushingly:  he 
had  never  set  eyes  on  it. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  more  pictures  upstairs  in  the 
corridor,"  said  Esther.  "  You  must  come  and  see  them  all, 
Nettie.  I'll  drive  Toby  over  for  you  some  day,  and  very 
soon.  Would  you  like  to  take  a  piece  of  cake  home  with 
you?" 

Nettie  held  out  her  hand;  but  it  was  impossible  for  her  t» 
hold  the  cake  and  keep  her  shawl  closed. 

"  I'll  put  it  in  my  pocket,"  said  Jack,  and  he  did  so,  as  if 
it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  "  Thank  Miss 
Vancourt,  Nettie  for  her  great  kindness." 

"  T'ank  you,  Miss  Vancourt,  for  your  gate  tindness,"  said 
the  child. 


LOVE,  THE  TYBAUT.  97 

Esther  cain-  forward  and  kissed  her,  and  in  doing  so  tha 
soft  tendrils  of  her  dark  hair  almost  touched  .Jack's  cheek. 

The  blood  flamed  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  a  znorasnt 
only;  bat  he  kept  his  eyes  steadily  in  front  of  him,  and.  his 
T'oice  was  quite  calm  as  he  said,  "  Good-morning^  Ladies," 
and  strode  out. 

"  A  very  singular  young  man,"  remarked  Miss  Wcroesisr. 
"  A  little  too  brusque  and  self-confident  to  please  me.  He 
doesn't  appear  to  quite — er — realise  his  position;  bii  there 
must  be  a  great  deal  of  good  in  him,  or  that  sweet  litfcls  thing 
wouldn't  be  so  fond  of  him." 

Esther  laughed  as  she  looked  after  the  pair  rather  absently. 

"  I  believe  that  idea  is  an  utter  fallacy,  aunt.  Dogs  and 
children  often  take  to  the  most  worthless  of  human  beings; 
look  at  Bill  Sykes's  dog,  for  instance!" 

"  Ob,  I  shouldn't  say  Mr.  Gordon  was  at  all  like  Bill 
Sykes,"  said  Miss  Worcester,  who  always  took  things  literally. 
"  Where  is  Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton?  The  bell  rang  some  time 
ago." 

Afc  that  moment  Mr.  Selby  Layton  was  in  his  room  chang- 
ing; but  he  was  performing  the  operation  in  a  very  preoccu- 
pied fashion  and  every  now  and  then  he  glanced  distastefully, 
and  with  a  moody  brow,  at  the  crumpled  letter  which  Palmer 
had  brought  him  on  the  terrace,  and  which  now  lay  open  on 
the  dressing-table.  It  was  a  very  short  one,  and  ran  thus: 

"  DEAR  SIR, — There  are  no  letters  to-day;  but  last  evening 
a  gentleman,  if  I  may  call  him  so,  called  and  asked  for  you. 
He  was  very  much  put  out  when  he  heard  that  you  weren't 
in  London,  and  asked  for  your  address;  but  I  did  not  give  it 
fco  him  because  he  \vas  intoxicated,  leastways  screwed,  and  did 
not  seem  a  gentleman.  He  swore  at  me  dread  Cul.  He  would 
not  leave  his  name,  but  said  he  would  call  in  a  couple  of 
days'  time,  and  I  was  to  write  to  you.  He  was  a  tall  man, 
very  dark,  with  a  black  moustache  and  an  insolent  way.  He 
asksd  me  for  a  drink,  but  I  said  it  was  locked  up. 
"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  WILLIAM  LEVEIT." 

As  his  eyes  rested  on  the  note,  which  came  from  his  rooms 
in  Claremont  Street  and  was  written  by  his  valet,  Selby  Lay- 
ton's  face  grew  darker  and  the  twist  of  his  lip  positively  ugly; 
and  when,  having  dressed,  he  tore  the  note  into  fragments, 
he  muttered  "  Curse  him!"  with  a  vindictiveness  which  few 
of  his  numerous  friends  would  have  deemed  Mr.  Selby  Layton 
capable  o£» 


98  LOVE,  THE  TYBAUT, 

His  smile  was  as  sweet  as  ever  as  he  went  down  to  the 
ladies,  oat  it  was  more  than  a  little  sad. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to  town  to- 
morrow," he  said.  "  But,  indeed,  I  have  made  a  very  long 
stay,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me." 

Esther  was  not  heart-broken  at  the  prospect  of  his  depart 
ore,  but  she  expressed  her  regret  very  prettily. 

"  We  shall  be  dreadfully  dull  after  you  have  gone!"  she 
eaid.  "  We  shall  miss  the  music  so  much.  I  hope  it  is  n»t 
unpleasant  business  which  has  called  you  away." 

**  Oh,  no,"  said  Mr.  Selby  Layton.  "  It  is  only  a  small 
matter,  but  it  needs  my  personal  attention,  and  I  am  partly 
consoled  for  leaving  the  Towers  by  the  thought  that  1  mav 
begin  the  execution  of  the  commission  you  have  honoured  me 
with." 

He  added  this  in  a  lower  tone  intended  only  for  Esther's 
ears;  and  she  smiled  at  him  gratefully. 

Mr.  Selby  Layton  made  himself  very  pleasant  these  last 
hours  of  his  first  visit  to  the  Towers,  and  not  only  to  Esther 
but  to  both  ladies.  He  talked  with  Miss  Worcester  on  all  her 
favourite  topics,  and  when  he  was  alone  with  Esther  discussed 
her  secret  plan  for  benefiting  the  Vancourt  family,  as  if  the 
project  were  as  close  to  his  heart  as  to  hers.  He  hung  about 
Esther  all  the  evening,  and  he  sang  some  of  his  prettiest  songs 
in  a  voice  of  melting  tenderness;  and  every  now  and  then  he 

glanced  towards  her  with  a  wistful,  devoted  expression  in  his 
lue  eyes  which  meant  unutterable  things.  But,  as  it  hap- 
pened, Esther  did  not  catch  one  of  these  glances;  for,  as  she 
listened  to  the  flood  of  melody  which  would  have  made  Selby 
Layton's  fortune  on  the  operatic  stage,  she  was  thinking  of 
Mr.  Gordon — of  all  persons  in  the  world !  She  was  recalling 
the  way  in  which  he  had  ridden  up  to  her  and  so  skilfully 
saved  her  from  what  might  have  been  a  serious  accident;  of 
his  gentleness  with  the  child  whose  love  he  had  so  evidently 
won;  of  his  wonderful  self-possession;  and,  more  than  all 
else,  of  the  strange  fact,  which  Nettie  had  innocently  dis- 
closed, that  he  carried  her  blood-stained  handkerchief  about 
him.  Why  did  he  do  it?  It  was  very  disrespectful  of  him. 
He  had  no  right  to  keep  her  handkerchief.  Should  she  ask 
him  for  it?  No;  she  could  scarcely  do  that,  and,  after  all,  it 
didn't  matter.  Martin  would  get  well  presently,  and  this 
strange  Mr.  Gordon  would  leave  the  place.  She  sighed  and 
murmured: 

"Thank  you!  Very  beautiful!"  as  Mr.  Selby  Layton 
finished  his  last  ravishing  song,  and  Miss  Worcester  gathered 


1OVB,  THE  TYBAIT?.  99 

jp  her  knitting  as  a  sign  that  it  was  time  for  bed.  She  left 
Esther  and  Selby  Lay  ton  alone  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  he 
drew  near  to  the  girl,  and  looked  down  at  her  pensively  and 
sighed. 

It  was  too  soon  for  him  to  speak  yet;  something  about 
Esther  warned  him  to  be  careful;  but  there  was  so  much  at 
stake  that  he  thought  he  must  venture  upon  at  least,  a  hint. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  have  been  at  ths  Towers, 
Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said,  his  voice  like  a  flute;  "  or  with  what 
sorrow  I  leave  it.  This  has  been  the  happiest  time  of  my 
life;  and  I  shall  think  of  it  as  I  sit  in  my  lonely  chambers  re- 
calling the  delightful  hours  I  have  spent  here." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  said  Esther.  "  I  am 
sure  we  shall  miss  you  very  much,  and  I  am  very  glad  that 
you've  not  found  it  very  dull.  We  hope  that  you  will  come 
down  again.'* 

"  I  may  have  something  to  tell  you  about  the  Vanconrt 
people,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  you  will  let  me  bring  my  re- 
port." He  took  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him,  half  raised  it 
to  his  lips;  but  no  man  had  ever  touched  Esther's  cheek  or 
hand,  and,  with  a  little  touch  of  colour  in  her  ivory  face,  she 
drew  her  hand  away.  Mr.  Selby  Layton's  smile  remained 
sweet  until  he  had  reached  his  room,  then  it  fled  and  his  lips 
took  on  their  nasty  twist. 

"  Proud  as  the  very  devil,  and  cold  as  a  stone!"  he  mut- 
tered. "  I'll  pay  her  back  in  her  own  coin  some  day!" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  Towers  seemed  rather  dull  after  Mr.  Selby  Layton 
had  gone.  Miss  Worcester  deplored  his  absence  openly,  and 
Esther  missed  his  wonderful  voice  in  the  evenings.  She  paid 
and  received  visits  amongst  her  neighbours,  but  she  did  not 
know  enough  of  them  yet  to  be  friendly,  and  the  time  hung 
heavy  on  her  hands.  She  did  not  go  near  the  home  farm  for 
a  couple  of  days;  but  that  did  not  prevent  her  from  thinking 
of  Mr.  Gordon,  and  the  more  she  thought  the  more  annoyed 
with  herself  she  became.  On  the  third  day  she  met  him  quite 
by  accident  as  she  was  walking  across  the  end  of  the  home 
farm.  He  was  on  the  colt,  but  the  horse  was  at  a  stand-still, 
and  its  rider  was  locking  rather  moodily  over  the  wido  stretch 
of  grass-land  before  him.  Esther  came  quite  close  up  to  him 
before  he  saw  her,  then  he  raised  his  hat  as  if  he  expected  her 
to  pass  on.  Esther  would  like  to  have  done  so,  bat  she1 
stopped  as  if  she  couldn't  help  it* 


100  MVE,  THE  TT&UTfc 

"  Good-mwuing,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said.  "  You  look  like 
.Napoleon  surveying  a  battle-field.  Is  anything  the  matter? 
Isn  t  the  grass  growing  to  your  liking?" 

"  Oh,  the  grass  is  all  right,"  he  replied;  "  and  there'll  be 
a  good  crop;  but  I  was  wondering  how  on  earth  we  were  going 
to  get  it  in." 

"  How  do  you  generally  get  it  in?"  she  asked,  looking 
round  her  helplessly. 

"  Well,  the  way  they  try  to  get  it  in  is  to  put  half  a  dozen 
old  men  in  to  cut  and  carry  it;  and  while  they're  muddling 
about,  the  rain  comes,  and  the  crop's  spoilt.  To  save  it 
properly,  you  want  a  hay-cutting  machine,  a  hay-turning  ma- 
chine, and  those  you  haven't  got." 

"  Why  not?"  asked  Esther. 

"  Because  you  haven't,"  he  said  in  his  brusque  fashion. 
"  Last  year  half  the  crop  was  spoilt,  Martin  tell  me;  all  for 
the  want  of  machinery.  Out  in  Aus — out  in  the  colonies 
they'd  have  all  the  latest  machinery,  and  save  the  whole 
thing." 

"  Then  why  don't  we  have  it  here?"  enquired  Esther. 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  got  off  his  horse.  It  was 
not  fitting  that  he  should  be  seated  while  Miss  Vanconrt,  of 
the  Towers,  was  standing:  Esther  noticed  his  change  of  posi- 
tion. Yes;  if  not  actually  a  gentleman,  he  "  behaved  as 
euch." 

"  Because  Sir  Richard  didn't  take  enough  interest.  I've 
explained  that  before.  Everything's  been  neglected;  the 
game,  the  farm,  everything.  And  it  wouldn't  cost  much. 
Give  me  two  hundred,  three  hundred  pounds,  and  I'd  buy 
the  machinery  and  pay  for  it  almost  in  the  first  season." 

This  is  the  way  a  woman  likes  to  hear  a  man  talk.  Esther's 
eyes  sparkled  as  she  turned  them  to  him  swiftly. 

"  Then  take  the  three  hundred  pounds  and  go  and  buy  it, 
Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said. 

Jack  caught  fire  at  her  enthusiasm. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  '*  Give  me 
the  money." 

Esther  laughed. 

"  I  don't  carry  three  hundred  pounds  about  with  me,  Mr. 
Gordon;  bat  if  you'll  come  up  to  the  house,  I'll  give  yon  a 
cheque." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to  London,"  said  Jack;  "  I  shall 
save  sixty  pounds.  I  want  it  at  once." 

"  Come  to  the  house,"  she  said. 

He  walked  beside  her,  and  giving  the  colt  to  ft  groom*  en* 


W5VT5,  THE  TYRANT.  101 

tared  the  hall  with  her.  She  left  him  and  went  into  the 
library  and  wrote  a  cheque  for  five  hundred  pounds,  which 
she  held  out  to  him. 

"  What's  this?"  said  Jack.     "  I  said  three  hundred." 

"  But  there  are  your  expenses!"  explained  Esther.  '*  And 
— and  I  don't  know  whether  you've  been  paid  any  salary?" 

Jack  shook  his  head.  He  had  about  ten  shillings  in  his 
pocket. 

"  That'll  come  later,"  he  said. 

"  I  wish  you  to  take  it  now,"  she  said;  "  at  five  pounds  a 
week." 

Jack  stared  at  her  and  laughed. 

"  That's  nonsense,"  he  said.  "  About  thirty  bob  a  week 
is  my  wage." 

Esther  drew  herself  up  haughtily. 

"  That  is  for  me  to  decide,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said.  Then, 
as  she  saw  the  unrelenting  look  on  Jack's  face,  she  added, 
meekly:  "  Say  three  pounds  a  week." 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  All  right.  It's  not  for  me  to  quarrel  about  that.  IH 
go  up  to  London  to-night  and  buy — " 

"  Buy  what  you  like,"  paid  Esther. 

Jack  laughed. 

"  That's  rather  a  large  order  and  a  free  hand,  Miss  Vaa- 
court." 

"  I  don't  understand  anything  about  it,"  said  Esther.  "  I 
trust  to  you." 

Jack's  face  grew  suddenly  grave.  -^ 

"  I'll  do  just  as  if  the  farm  were  my  own,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  Don't  you  be  afraid,  Miss  Vancourt." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Esther,  proudly. 

He  nodded,  and  stalked  out  of  the  hall.  There  were  weep- 
ing and  wailing  from  Nettie  when  he  declared  his  intention  of 
going  up  by  the  night  train,  and  he  had  to  get  her  to  sleep 
in  his  arms,  so  great  was  her  grief;  then  Georgie  drove  him  to 
the  station,  and,  with  Miss  Vancourt's  liberal  cheque  in  his 
pocket,  Jack  was  carried  to  London.  On  the  journey  he 
thought  a  great  deal.  His  was  certainly  the  strangest  posi- 
tion in  which  a  man  had  ever  been  placed.  He  was  acting  as 
servant  on  the  estate  which  actually  belonged  to  him.  This 
was  strange  enough,  but  more  strange  and  remarkable  was 
the  fact  that  he  was  not  unhappy  in  his  position.  The  home 
farm  interested  him,  but  the  mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers  in- 
terested him  still  more.  He  regarded  her  with  a  strange  feel- 
iiig,  in  which  something  like  pity  predominated:  she  seemed 


102  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

so  alone,  so  helpless.  And  she  reminded  him  of  his  dead 
chum  in  every  word  and  gesture.  There  were  times  when  she 
spoke  and  smiled  that  the  real  Jack  Gordon  seemed  to  stand 
before  him. 

He  reached  London,  and  he  put  up  at  a  quiet  and  inexpen- 
sive hotel.  At  breakfast  the  next  morning,  he  realised  that 
he  was  still  in  his  old  riding-suit — well  enough  in  the  coun- 
try, but  scarcely  suitable  to  London;  and  that  desire  to  be 
properly  clad  which  is  the  instinct  of  every  gentleman  assailed 
him  as  he  was  getting  through  his  second  egg;  but,  with  his 
duty  strongly  before  him,  he  went  off  and  interviewed  the  agri- 
cultural engineers  before  he  sought  a  tailor,  with  whom,  as 
"  Arthur  Burton,"  he  had  had  numerous  dealings.  The 
man  remembered  him,  and  greeted  him  with  a  respectful  cor- 
diality. 

"  I've  get  a  dress-suit  that  I  made  for  you  just  before  you 
went  abroad,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  said,  "  and  I  was  wondering 
whether  you'd  ever  call  for  it." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jack.  "  Send  it  on;"  and  he  gave  the 
address  of  his  hotel. 

He  spent  the  remainder  of  his  first  day  inspecting  the  agri- 
cultural machinery,  and  when  he  got  back  in  the  evening, 
he  found  his  dress-suit,  overcoat  and  all  complete,  awaiting 
him.  It  was  a  very  long  while  since  he  had  donned  evening 
attire,  and  the  sight  of  the  clothes  reminded  him  of  past  days, 
when  he  had  dressed  every  night  for  dinner,  in  accordance 
with  the  custom  of  the  set  to  which  he  belonged.  He  dressed 
that  night  and  thought  he  would  go  to  the  theatre:  it  was  a 
long  time  since  he  had  been  inside  any  place  of  amusement  in 
London. 

His  reflection  in  the  glass,  when  he  had  put  on  the  things, 
smote  him  strangely.  Say  what  you  will,  man  is  very  much 
what  his  tailor  makes  him,  and  Jack  Gordon  of  the  home 
farm  looked  a  very  different  person  in  correct  dress  clothes. 
He  smiled  at  himself  grimly,  thinking,  "  Fine  feathers  make 
fine  birds;"  and  having  eaten  his  dinner,  walked  down  to  the 
Strand  and  turned  into  a  theatre.  Every  seat  was  full,  and, 
not  much  disappointed,  he  lit  a  cigar — the  first  cigar  he  had 
smoked  for  many  a  long  day — and  strolled  westward. 

He  made  his  way  towards  Hyde  Park,  and  paused  beside 
the  railings  which  front  Park  Lane  to  look  at  the  flowers  in 
the  park  on  one  hand,  and  those  sumptuous  and  costly  build- 
ings which  face  it;  and  for  a  moment  the  thought  struck 
him,  if  he  were  to  claim  his  own,  he  might  be  living  in  one 


THE  TYRANTS  103 

of  these  sonptnous  houses  which  are  reserved  for  the  English 
nobility  and  the  African  millionaire. 

As  he  was  looking  at  the  flowers  through  the  railings,  a 
little  girl  came  up  to  him  and  offered  him,  in  whining  ac- 
cents, a  bunch  of  roses.  He  gave  the  child  a  shilling;  and, 
with  a  look  of  surprise,  she  ran  on  in  front  of  him.  A  mo- 
ment later  a  tall,  dark  man  with  a  black  moustache  passed 
him.  The  flower-girl,  encouraged,  perhaps,  by  Jack's  lib- 
erality, stopped  this  man  and  offered  him  her  bunch  of  faded 
blossoms.  She  was  very  persistent  and  troublesome,  no  doubt, 
and  Jack  saw  the  man  half  j)ush,  half  strike  her  from  his 
path.  She  fell  against  he  railings  and  whimpered;  and,  with 
a  rush  of  blood  to  his  head,  Jack  sprang  forward  and  caught 
the  man  by  the  collar  of  his  seedy  coat.  Jack  had  merely 
meant  to  expostulate  with  him,  to  call  him  to  account  for 
pushing  and  striking  a  helpless  waif  of  the  street;  but  as  be 
seized  the  man,  a  sudden  flood  of  recollection  swept  over 
him. 

He  had  seen  the  man  before.  The  dark  face,  the  cold, 
malicious  eyes  awakened  a  memory.  Unless  he  were  mad  or 
dreaming,  this  man's  face  was  that  of  the  chief  of  the  rangerg 
who  had  burst  into  the  hut,  who  had  killed  the  real  Jack 
Gordon,  his  chum!  For  a  moment  he  was  too  overwhelmed 
by  the  resemblance  to  utter  a  word;  then  he  cried: 

"It's  you!    You!" 

The  man  staggered  back,  then  he  struck  out  wildly,  and 
his  blows  were  smart  and  heavy.  Jack  struck  back,  still  keep- 
ing hold  of  the  man.  All  the  past  came  back  to  him  vividly. 
Wonderful,  marvellous  as  it  was,  this  was  the  man  who  had 
shot  his  chum.  The  chief  of  the  rangers.  Here  in  London! 

The  two  men  struggled  and  fought,  as  if  to  the  death.  The 
flower-girl  crouched  against  the  railing,  the  cabs  and  car- 
riages rattled  by.  Jack  got  his  opponent  down  on  his  knees 
for  one  moment,  but  the  man  was  as  slippery  as  an  eel,  and 
he  slid  to  his  feet  again  and  closed  with  Jack.  But  Jack's 
enormous  strength  would  have  told  and  the  man  would  have 
been  at  his  mercy,  if  at  this  moment  a  stalwart  park  keeper 
had  not  run  forward  and  thrown  his  arms  about  Jack. 

;'  What's  wrong  here?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Hold  that  man!"  exclaimed  Jack.  "I  know  him — don't 
let  him  go!" 

But  the  park  keeper,  seeing  that  Jack  was  the  stronger, 
dung  to  him,  the  man  slipped  from  his  grasp  and  took  to  his 
heels,  and  Jack  stood,  helpless,  in  the  hands  of  the  sturdy 
guardian  of  order.  The  bushranger,  if  it  were  indeed  he, 


104  LOVE,  THE  TYEANT. 

fled  down  South  Audley  Street,  and  Jack  was  teit/  Attiv  49f£h 
the  keeper  and  the  frightened  flower-girl. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

THE  park  keeper  who  struggled  with  Jack  was  a  big  man 
and  a  strong,  and  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  Jack  could 
free  himself  and  acquaint  the  keeper  with  the  fact  that  he 
was  detaining  the  wrong  man.  At  last  he  did  succeed  in  get- 
ting free,  and,  with  the  little  breath  that  was  left  him,  de» 
mauded  angrily  and,  I  fear,  with  a  familiar  expletive: 

"  Why  on  earth  did  you  hold  me  and  let  the  other  fellow 
go?" 

*  Well,  sir,  I  saw  you  strike  the  gentleman — saw  yon  with 
toy  own  eyes — and  I  naturally  went  for  you." 

"  I  struck  the  villain  because  I  saw  him  strike  that  child 
there;  and  then  I  recognised  him  as  a — "  He  stopped;  for 
it  was  of  no  use  telling  the  park  keeper  that  the  man  who  had 
escaped  was  the  chief  of  a  gang  of  Australian  bushrangers: 
the  park  keeper  would  probably  think  he  was  out  of  his  mind, 
and  would  want  to  drag  him  off  to  the  nearest  police  station. 
"  But  it's  no  use  bothering  about  it  now,"  he  continued; 
"  the  man's  got  away.  Let  us  see  if  the  child's  hurt." 

But  long  before  this  the  little  street-girl,  who  had  regarded 
the  park  keeper's  appearance  on  the  scene  as  that  of  a  natural 
and  official  foe,  to  be  dreaded  only  one  degree  less  than  the 
hated  policeman,  had  fled  the  scene. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir!"  said  the  park  keeper,  who  long  before 
this  had  decided  that  he  was  speaking  to  a  gentleman;  "  al- 
ways difficult  to  tell,  when  there's  a  row  between  two  persons, 
which  is  in  fault.  I  hope  you're  not  hurt,  sir?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Jack,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  I'm  a  bit 
crumpled,  though,"  looking  down  at  his  crashed  shirt-front 
and  twisted  tie.  He  gave  the  keeper  a  shilling,  wished  him  a 
pleasant  "  good-night,"  and  then  went  down  South  Audley 
Street  with  rage  and  disappointment  burning  in  his  heart. 

That  the  ranger  should  be  in  London  was  marvellous 
enough,  but  that  he,  Jack,  should  have  met  him  and  had 
him  in  his  grip,  and  then  lost  him,  was  maddening.  Jack 
was  the  last  man  to  bear  malice — the  malice  of  the  low  and 
common  nature.  If  the  ranger  had  confined  the  attack  in 
the  hut  to  himself,  there  would  have  been  no  craving  for  re- 
venge in  Jack's  heart:  he  had  been  too  used  to  fighting  dur- 
ing his  rough  life  to  bear  malice  against  a  foe,  vanquished  or 
ooBcpiering;  bat  this  villain  had  shit  the  real  Jack  GorcUo, 


LOVE,   THE  TYRANT.  105 

had  murdered  Jack's  chum,  and  that  chum  was  Esther  Van- 
court's  brother;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Jack 
thirsted  for  the  man's  blood  with  an  earnestness  which  was, 
alas!  very  heathenish.  The  man  was  not  fit  to  live,  and  if 
Jack  had  met  him  out  in  the  wilds,  he  would  assuredly  have 
shot  him  on  sight. 

He  walked  down  South  Audley  Street,  looking  abort  him, 
though  he  felt  certain  that  the  man  had  escaped,  and  that 
only  &  chance,  such  as  that  which  he  had  lost,  would  bring 
him  face  to  face  with  him  again;  but,  if  such  a  chance  should 
occur,  Jack  told  himself  that  the  man  would  not  be  per- 
mitted to  escape  a  second  time. 

At  the  end  of  the  street  he  turned  to  the  right  and  walked 
on  aimlessly,  still  keeping  a  sharp  lookout.  Suddenly,  to  his 
delight,  he  saw  the  man  passing  the  end  of  the  street.  Jack 
slipped  into  a  door- way  and  thought  for  a  moment.  If  he 
followed,  the  ranger,  with  the  start  he  had  got,  would  be  sure 
to  outrun  him;  so  Jack,  with  the  cunning  of  the  backwoods- 
man, struck  the  street  parallel  to  the  one  which  the  ranger 
had  entered,  and  running  down  it,  turned  the  corner  and 
waited,  ready  to  spring  upon  the  man  as  he  passed.  He  set 
his  teeth  and  gathered  himself  together  for  the  spring,  for  he 
knew  that  it  would  be  a  hard  struggle;  but  the  seconds  grew 
into  minutes,  and  his  prey  did  not  appear.  Very  cautiously, 
keeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses,  Jack  stole  to  the  corner 
of  the  street.  It  was  empty;  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  Not 
a  little  startled  and  surprised,  Jack  hid  in  a  door-way  and 
considered  the  situation.  It  was  evident  that  the  ranger  had 
entered  one  of  the  houses:  but  which?  It  was  a  long  street, 
and  Jack  could  not  very  well  knock  at  every  door  and  enquire 
if  a  tall,  dark  man  had  entered.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  wait  and  watch  on  the  chance  of  the  man's  reap- 
pearance. 

If  he  could  have  been  in  the  street  &  minute  earlier,  he 
would  have  been  in  time  to  see  the  ranger  knock  at  the  door 
of  No.  14.  It  was  opened  by  Levett,  and  before  he  said  a 
word,  the  ranger  closed  it  quickly. 

"  Is  Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton  in?"  he  asked. 

The  astonished  and  indignant  Levett  replied  that  he  would 
go  and  see. 

"  That  means  that  he  is,"  said  the  ranger.  "  Don't  yon 
trouble  to  announce  me.  I'll  go  straight  up  to  him.  I'm  an 
old  friend;"  and  he  sprang  up  the  stairs  before  the  outraged 
Levett  could  intercept  him,  even  if  he  had  intended  doing  so. 

Selby  Layton  was  lying  back  in  the  easiest  of  easy-chairs, 


1C6  LOVE,  THE  TYEAOT. 

smoking  «,  cigar  and  reading  the  last  minor  poet.  The  room 
was  the  picture  of  comfort  and  bachelor  luxury;  the  furniture 
was  Chippendale,  excepting  the  easy-chair,  which  was  far  too 
comfortable  for  that  elegant  but  severe  style;  the  decorations 
and  hangings  were  in  the  best  taste;  the  water-colours  on  the 
wall  were  good  examples  of  modern  masters;  there  was  a 
semi-grand  piano  by  Broad  wood;  there  were  flowers  on  the 
table  and  cabinets,  and  a  rosewood  book-case  filled  with  vol- 
umes in  choice  and  expensive  bindings.  Mr.  Layton  had 
taken  off  his  dress-coat  and  donned  a  light  and  comfortable 
dressing-gown,  and  looked  serene  and  peaceful  and  altogether 
at  his  ease. 

But  all  his  serenity  and  ease  fled  as  the  door  opened  and  the 
tall,  dark  man  stood  and  glowered  at  him.  Selby  Layton 
forced  a  sickly  smile,  and  rose  with  an  attempt  at  welcome. 

"  Ah,  Denzil!"  he  said.     "  How  do  you  do?" 

His  voice  shook  slightly,  and  his  affectation  at  heartiness 
would  not  have  deceived  an  infant.  Denzil  closed  the  door, 
and,  taking  no  notice  of  Selby  Layton's  proffered  hand,  sank 
into  the  easy-chair  from  which  his  host  had  risen,  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face  with  an 
angry,  impatient  gesture. 

I  suppose  if  I  hadn't  come  up,  you  would  have  told  that 
lying  hound  you  weren't  at  home.'"'  he  said. 

*' My  dear  Denzil,  how  unjust!"  said  Selby  Layton.  "I 
came  back  from  the  country  on  purpose  to  meet  you.  Yon 
seem  hot.  What  is  that  on  your  face — surely  not  blood?" 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Denzil,  curtly.  "  I  had  a  row  with  a 
drunken  beast  just  now.  And  I  am  hot:  give  me  a  drink, 
sharp!" 

With  a  smile  Selby  Layton  was  about  to  ring  the  bell,  but 
thought  better  of  it,  and  got  out  some  £Dda  and  whiskey  from 
a  chaste-looking  cabinet. 

"  Say  when,  my  dear  Denzil,"  he  said. 

Denzil  said  *'  when  "  as  the  glass  was  half  full,  and  taking 
the  tumbler  before  Selby  Layton  could  add  the  soda-water, 
drank  off  the  neat  spirit. 

"  Ah,  that's  better!  Now  you  can  give  me  a  long  drink 
and  a  cigar." 

Selby  Layton  mixed  the  drink  and  handed  the  silver-gilt 
cigar-box.  Denzil  took  one  of  the  choice  Havanas,  filled  his 
pockets  with  the  remainder,  and  looked  at  the  silver  box 
longingly,  as  if  he  would  like  to  put  that  in  his  pocket  also; 
and  placed  it,  with  marked  reluctance,  on  the  table. 

"  And  how  .have  you  been,  and  where  have  .you  been,  mj 


LOVE,   THE  TYRAOT.  1C  . 

dear  Denril?"  asked  Selby  Layton.  "  I  thought  you  were  in 
Australia." 

"  You  mean  you  wished  I  was,"  said  Denzil,  as  he  lit  his 
cigar  and  threw  himself  back  with  an  insolent  air  of  self- 
assurance.  "  But  I'm  not;  I'm  here  in  London,  you  see." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Selby  Layton,  still  smiling,  but  with  the 
twist  of  his  upper  lip  beginning  to  show.  "  Of  course  I  don't 
want  to  interfere  in  your  affairs,  my  dear  Benzil;  but  do  you 
think  it  is  wise?" 

"  That's  my  lookout,"  said  DenziL 

"  Quite  so,"  remarked  Selby  Layton,  smoothly.  "But  the 
police  have  long  memories,  my  dear  Denzil,  and  that  little 
affair  of  yours  was  so  very — very  desperate,  that  I  am  afraid 
if  you  were  seen  and  recognised —  Forgive  me,  but  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  you  were  safer  in  Australia." 

"You  mean  that  you  were  safer,"  retorted  Denzil,  with  an 
ugly  sneer.  "  Australia  was  well  enough,  but  it  didn't  suit 
ma,  and  I  got  tired  of  it." 

"  Just  so — just  so!"  assented  Selby  Layton.  "  It  is  a  won- 
derful country,  rich  in  resources;  I  hope  that  you  did  well 
there,  my  dear  Denzil?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  your  '  dear  Denzil '  did  very  badly;  so 
badly  that  he  was  obliged  to  come  back,  and  very  glad  he  is 
to  get  back.  You  appear  to  be  in  clover,  my  dear  Selby," 
he  remarked,  mimicking  Selby  Layton's  soft  voice.  "  Pros- 
pering, eh?  You  always  were  the  cunning  kind  of  dog  that 
can  get  the  meat  while  others  have  the  bones." 

"  Admiring  my  room,  iny  dear  Denzil?  Yes,  it  is  comfort- 
able, and  I  am  fairly  prosperous.  Hard  work,  you  know; 
hard  work." 

Denzil  laughed  a  mirthless  and  contemptuous  laugh. 

"  Hard  work!  You  never  did  a  day's  hard  work  in  your 
life!  I  wish  I'd  had  you  out  in  Australia  with  me;  I'd  have 
shown  you  what  work  meant.  How  do  you  manage  it,  eh? 
That's  no  business  of  mine.  I'm  glad  you're  prospering,  be- 
cause you're  able  to  help  a  pal  who's  down  on  his  luck. 

Selby  Layton  looked  grave  and  shook  his  head. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted  to  help  you,  my  dear  Den- 
zil," he  said.  "  But  I  fear—" 

Denzil  expectorated  on  the  Persian  carpet  and  looked  Selby 
Layton  full  in  the  face  with  calm  insolence. 

"  I  want  a  hundred  pounds,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  remark* 
ing  that  he  wanted  another  glass  of  whiskey. 

Selby  Layton.  started  and  sank  into  a  chair. 


108  IJOVE,  THE  TYRAKT. 

"  It's  qtrite  impossible,"  he  said.     "  I  haven't  a 
pounds  in  the  world.     I  might  manage  five-and-twenty." 

Denzil  looked  round  the  expensively  furnished  room  sig- 
nificantly. 

"  You  can  raise  a  bill  of  sale  on  this  for  more  than  doubk 
the  amount,"  he  said,  coolly. 

The  ugly  twist  in  Selby  Layton's  lip  became  more  pro- 
nounced. 

"  There  may  be  a  bill  of  sale  on  it  already,  my  dear  Den- 
zil," he  said, 

"  I  don't  care.  A  hundred  pTJunds  I  want,  and  mean  to 
have  it.  Borrow  it,  steal  it,  get  it  how  you  like;  I  don't 
mind,  I  mean  to  have  it  before  I  leave  here  to-night." 

Selby  Layton  crossed  his  legs,  and  clasping  his  knee  with 
his  white  hands,  looked  at  his  companion  with  a  smile  that, 
in  its  way,  was  as  ugly  as  Denzil's. 

"  My  dear  Denzil,  don't  you  think  you  are  a  little  exigent, 
not  to  say  a  tittle  presumptuous?  And  does  it  not  occur  to 
you  that  I  may  refuse  to  give  you  anything;  indeed,  that  I 
may  summon  my  servant,  send  for  a  policeman  and  give  you 
in  charge?  Really,  it  would  be  the  simplest  and  wisest  way 
of  meeting  your  exorbitant  demand." 

Denzil  did  not  seem  at  all  impressed. 

"  Simple  enough,  I  daresay,"  he  said,  reachimg  for  the 
whiskey  decanter;  "  but  not  very  wise." 

"  1  don't  know,"  murmured  Selby  Layton,  thoughtfully. 
"  The  police  would  take  you  off  my  hands,  and  I  should  be 
lid  of  you.  for —  How  many  years  do  they  give  for  forgery?" 

Denzil's  sinister  face  grew  black  and  his  eyes  glittered. 

"  You  don't  bluff  badly,  Selby,"  he  said.  "  But  you  for- 
get that  you  don't  hold  all  the  cards.  I  hold  some.  Here's 
one  of  'em." 

He  took  a  dingy  pocket-book  from  his  pocket,  and  leisurely 
extracting  a  long  slip  of  paper,  waved  it  significantly. 

"  Call  the  police,  and  I'll  hand  them  this,  and  tell  them 
the  little  secret  you've  kept  so  carefully;  and  I'll  take  care  to 
let  the  person  this  concerns  know  where  to  find  you.  I  fancy 
you'd  pay  more  than  a  hundred  pounds  to  keep  me  quiet." 

Selby  Layton's  face  went  pale,  and  he  watched  the  slip  of 
paper,  as  it  was  restored  to  the  pocket-book,  in  silence. 

**  Judging  by  your  surroundings,   I  should  imagine  yoa 
don't  want  to  be  disturbed  in  the  little  game  you're  playing 
wnatever  it  may  be,"  said  Denzil.    "  There's  sure  to  be  some 
little  game,  there  always  was,  for  you  couldn't  run  straight. 
any  more  than  some  othars  of  us;  and  I  daresay  you're  DC 


1C 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  109 

more  anxious  to  face  the  police  than  I  am.  We're  in  the 
same  boat,  you  and  I,  Selby,  and  if  it  goes  down,  we  go  down 
together.  I'll  say  nothing  about  this,  and  I'll  hold  my 
tongue  for  a  hundred  pounds.  Give  it  me  in  notes,  and  try 
and  do  it  cheerfully." 

Selby  Lay  ton  sat  in  silent  thought  for  a  moment  or  two, 
his  upper  lip  twitching,  his  white  hands  strained  round  bis 
knee. 

"  If  I  were  sure  that  a  hundred  pounds  were  the  grand 
total,  my  dear  Denzil,"  he  said.  "  But  from  what  I  know 
?f  you,  I  feel  sure  that  it  is  not.  With  a  man  of  yonr  ex- 
pensive tastes  such  a  sum,  large  though  it  is,  does  not  go 
very  far.  It  is  quite  possible  that  you'll  be  here  in  a  week's 
time,  bent  on  further  blackmailing." 

Denzil  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  daresay  I  might,"  he  said;  "  but  it's  not  very  probable, 
I  want  to  leave  the  country  again,  and  I  shall  do  it  with  this 
money.  But  I  don't  want  to  argue,  and  I  don't  want  to 
haggle.  And  I  don't  make  any  promises,  neither.  Give  me 
the  money,  or  call  the  police,  as  you  threatened;  but  while 
they  are  coming,  I'll  make  it  worth  while  sending  for  them." 

He  rose,  and  with  the  cigar  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth, 
'iook  out  a  revolver  and  covered  Selby  Layton. 

Selby  Layton  did  not  move,  and  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  My  dear  Denzil,  my  man  is  in  the  hall  down-stairs;  you 
«sould  not  leave  the  house  any  other  way — the  window  is  too 
nigh.  Eevolvers  may  be  very  useful  in  Australia,  but  they 
are  quite  out  of  place  in  London — quite  out  of  place." 

Denzil's  nostrils  expanded  with  an  ugly  smile. 

"  Move  an  inch  and  I'll  shoot  you!"  he  said.  "  I'm  des- 
perate, and  I'd  as  soon  be  lagged  for  this  as  for  the  other. 
I'll  give  you  one  minute  to  make  up  your  mind." 

"  You  really  mean  it?"  said  Selby  Layton.  "  I  suppose  I 
must  give  you  a  cheque — " 

"Thanks;  I  think  not,"  said  Denzil.  "You  have  the 
notes  by  you,  I  know;  for  you  knew  I  was  coming,  and  would 
be  prepared." 

Selby  Layton  laughed. 

"  Your  perspicacity  is  remarkable.  Yes,  1  expend  to  be 
blackmailed  by  you,  and  I  am  prepared.  I  make  this  ad- 
mission, my  dear  Denzii,  because  I  assure  you  that  it  is  the 
last  money  I  shall  give  you,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they 
may.  As  you  say,  if  we  go  down,  we  go  down  together,  and, 
from  what  I  know  of  you,  I  am  convinced  that  you  value 
your  own  safety  too  highly  to  endanger  it  lightly.  If  you'll 


110  LOVE,   THE 

excuse  me  one  moment,  I  will  get  you  the  notes.    They  are 
in  the  next  room  " 

Denzil  nodded  grimly. 

"  Leave  the  door  open,"  he  said.  "  If  you  attempt  to 
escape,  I  fire." 

Selby  shot  a  glance  at  him  fall  of  hate,  but  said  nothing, 
and  went  into  the  next  room.  He  was  back  again  in  a  minute 
with  some  notes  in  his  hand. 

"  There  is  the  money,"  he  said.  "  The  last  you  will  ever 
have." 

Denzil  put  the  notes  In  his  pocket-book,  filled  his  glass 
again,  and  drank  it  leisurely,  as  leisurely  lit  another  cigar, 
and,  with  a  nod,  sauntered  to  the  door.  There  he  turned 
and  looked  at  Selby  Lay  ton  with  sinister  curiosity. 

"  I  wonder  what  your  little  game  is?  You  would  not  give 
me  a  hundred  pounds  to  hold  my  tongue  unless  my  silence 
was  well  worth  it.  Is  it  anything  I  can  help  you  In,  Selby? 
If  so,  say  so,  and  we'll  go  into  partnership." 

Selby  Lay  ton  eyed  him  under  haltclosed  lids. 

"  I  desire  your  assistance  as  little  as  I  desire  your  presence, 
my  dear  Denzil.  You  have  got  your  money;  let  me  advise 
you  to  depart  before  I  change  my  mind," 

With  a  laugh  of  insolent  contempt  Denzil  opened  the  door, 
listened  for  a  moment,  then  went  down-stairs  and  let  himself 
out.  He  opened  and  shut  the  door  so  softly  that  Jack, 
hidden  in  his  door- way,  though  he  was  listening  with  all  his 
ears,  did  not  hear  him;  but  he  caught  sight  of  him  presently 
as  Denzil  passed  down  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

Now,  while  he  had  been  waiting,  Jack  had  had  time  to 
consider  the  situation.  He  had  intended  springing  out  upon 
the  man,  overpowering  him,  and  giving  him  into  custody, 
charging  him  with  the  murder  of  the  real  Jack  Gordon;  but 
on  consideration  he  saw  that  this  course  was  scarcely  advis- 
able. In  the  first  place,  he  would  find  it  difficult  to  substan- 
tiate the  charge — the  crime  was  committed  in  Australia,  he 
had  no  witnesses — nothing  beyond  his  bare  word,  which  would 
not  be  sufficient  to  prove  the  man's  identity.  Then  again,  if 
he  gave  the  man  in  charge,  he  would  have  to  declare  his  own 
identity,  would  be  compelled  to  break  his  promise  to  his  dead 
chum,  to  reveal  the  fact  that  he  himself  was  Sir  John  Van- 
court,  and  that  Esther,  the  sister  of  the  man  who  had  laid 
down  his  life  for  him,  was  only  a  usurper. 

As  the  reader  will  no  doubt  have  discovered,  Jack  was  n^ 
supernaturally  clever,  and  the  problem  puzzled  him.     E"1 
could  only  decide  to  follow  the  man,  to  track  him  to  his  laii> 


LOVE,  THE  TYBAOT.  Ill 

Wuerever  it  w»»,  and  to  postpone  the  day  of  reckoning  to  a 
more  convenient  time:  Jack  swore  to  himself  that  the  day  of 
reckoning  should  come. 

He  waited  until  Denzil,  walking  quickly,  had  passed  him 
und  reached  the  end  of  the  street,  then  he  followed  him.  As 
lie  had  expected,  Denzil  got  into  a  hansom  cab,  and  Jack 
jumped  into  another. 

"  Follow  that  cab,"  he  said.  "  And  don't  lose  sight  of  it; 
but  don't  let  the  other  driver  know  you're  following  him." 

The  cabman  winked — he  thought  Jack  was  a  detective — 
and  the  pursuit  began.  Denzil's  cab  struck  off  north  to  the 
great  thoroughfare  of  Oxford  Street,  passed  into  a  quieter 
part  of  the  town,  and  pulled  up  suddenly  at  the  corner  of  a 
forsaken  and  neglected  little  square.  It  was  a  dingy  place 
with  shabby  and  squalid  houses.  Deuzil's  cab  had  stopped  at 
a  dirty  and  flaring  public-house,  and  Jack,  at  a  discreet  dis- 
tance, saw  Denzil  pay  and  dismiss  his  cabman  and  enter  the 
public.  Telling  his  man  to  wait,  Jack  got  out,  and,  button- 
ing up  his  coat  closely,  approached  the  public-house,  and, 
having  assured  himself  that  there  was  no  exit  from  the  back 
by  which  Denzil  could  escape,  waited  for  his  man  to  come 
out. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  noise  inside  the  house,  as  if  some 
of  the  customers  were  drunk.  Presently  two  or  three  men 
came  out.  They  were  low-looking  ruffians,  and,  though  they 
were  fairly  sober,  Jack  could  see  that  they  had  been  drinking 
heavily.  They  passed  him,  all  three  walking  close  together 
and  talking  eagerly  and  in  an  under-tone;  but  as  they  went 
by,  Jack  distinctly  heard  one  word — "  Notes."  Presently 
they  separated  and  disappeared,  one  down  an  alley,  the  others 
up  the  narrow  streets  branching  from  the  square.  A  minute 
or  two  afterwards  Denzil  came  out  of  the  public-house, 
paused  for  a  moment  to  look  round  him  warily,  then  went  in 
the  direction  the  men  had  taken,  and  passed  Jack  almost  as 
closely  as  they  had  done. 

Jack  remained  in  the  door-way  which  screened  him  until 
Denzii  had  gone  about  fifty  yards;  then  he  set  out  to  follow 
him.  Denzil  passed  the  mouth  of  the  alley,  a  low  whistle 
sounded,  a  man  sprang  from  the  alley,  threw  his  arms  round 
Denzil's  neck,  and  the  two  other  men  came  running  from 
their  hiding-places  to  help  their  confederate. 

This  new  move  took  Jack  by  surprise,  and  he  stopped  short 
and  watched  for  a  minute,  asking  himself  what  he  should  do. 
But  very  few  Englishmen  can  stand  idle  while  one  man  is 
fighting  against  odds,  though  that  one  mao  should  be  his 


112  "LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

deadly  foe,  and  Jack,  with  a  shout,  ran  towarun  tnem.  Th*> 
thieves  heard  him,  and,  being  only  common  footpads,  they  at 
ones  took  the  alarm,  and  flinging  Denzil  to  the  ground,  made 
off.  Jack  expected  Denzil  to  remain  quiet  for  a  time,  at  any 
rate;  but  the  man  rose  quickly,  as  if  he  were  not  hurt,  and, 
without  waiting  to  see  how  he  had  been  rescued,  ran  down  the 
street  and  disappeared  round  the  corner. 

Jack  started  after  him,  but  as  he  reached  the  spot  where 
Denzil  had  fallen,  his  foot  struck  against  something.  He 
picked  it  up  and  found  it  to  be  a  large  and  shabby  pocket- 
book.  Slipping  it  into  his  pocket,  he  took  up  the  pursuit 
again;  but  Denzil  was  not  to  be  seen. 

The  place  was  a  network  of  narrow  streets,  each  so  like  the 
other  that  Jack  soon  got  confused.  Every  now  and  then  the 
line  of  houses  was  broken  by  a  court  or  alley,  down  any  one 
of  which  his  prey  might  have  darted. 

Very  much  disappointed,  Jack,  after  a  good  deal  of  diffi- 
culty, found  his  way  back  to  his  cab,  and  told  the  man  to 
drive  him  to  the  hotel;  and  having  paid  the  man  liberally, 
went  up  to  his  room.  He  had  been  so  absorbed  in  his  pursuit 
and  his  disappointment  at  his  failure  to  track  the  ranger, 
that  he  had  forgotten  the  pocket-book;  and  it  was  not  until 
after  he  had  had  his  supper  and  was  going  to  bed  that  the 
sight  of  his  overcoat,  which  he  had  thrown  across  a  chair,  re- 
minded him  of  his  "  find."  He  went  for  it  eagerly,  and  ex- 
amined it,  turning  out  the  contents  of  the  pockets  on  to  the 
dressing-table. 

To  say  that  he  was  amazed  at  the  sight  of  the  packet  of 
bank-notes,  quite  inadequately  describes  his  sensation;  but 
there  they  were,  staring  up  at  him,  to  the  extent  of  a  hun- 
dred pounds.  The  only  other  loose  paper  was  a  certificate  of 
marriage  between  "  Adolphus  Robinson "  and  "  Margaret 
Mayhew." 

On  the  leaves  of  the  pocket-book  were  written  faded  and 
almost  indistinct  memoranda,  and  the  only  other  loose  paper 
was  a  pawn-ticket  for  a  silver  watch.  So  far  as  he  knew, 
there  was  nothing  to  prove  that  the  pocket-book  which  lay 
there  on  the  table  was  the  property  of  the  ranger.  His  name 
might  be  Robinson;  but  it  might  not  Jack  had  no  means  of 
knowing.  The  thing  might  have  fallen  from  the  pockets  of 
one  of  the  thieves,  though  it  was  unlikely  that  such  footpads 
should  possess  so  large  a  sum  of  money. 

The  thing  was  a  mystery,  and  Jack  felt  not  a  little  con- 
fused and  embarrassed.  Here  was  a  hundred  pounds  in 
aotes;  and  what  should  he  do  with,  it?  If  he  took  it  to  tha 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  113 

police— which  would  be  the  easiest  thing  to  do — they  would 
at  once  ask  inconvenient  questions — questions  which  Jack 
would  find  it  difficult  to  answer;  for  the  first  would  be: 
"  What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  take  charge  of  this  myself/' 
he  said.  "If  it  belongs  to  that  scoundrel,  he  can  have  it  by 
applying  to  Mr.  Jack  Gordon,  foreman  of  the  Vancourt  home 
farm!" 

Considering  that  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  he  wrapped 
the  pocket-book  with  its  notes  in  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  ring- 
ing for  some  sealing-wax,  sealed  it  and  put  it  safely  away  in 
his  bag.  Then  he  went  to  bed  and  dreamt,  not  of  the  ranger, 
but — of  Esther  Vancourt! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

JACK  would  very  much  have  liked  to  have  gone  down  to  the 
place  where  he  had  lost  sight  of  the  ranger  and  have  tried  to 
track  him;  but  he  remembered  that  he  was  Miss  Vanoourt'a 
servant,  and  that  he  had  come  up  to  London  on  her  business. 
So,  having  arranged  with  the  manufacturers  to  send  down  the 
machines  he  had  bought,  he  packed  up  his  things  and  took 
train  for  home;  and  though  it  may  be  presumed  that  a  man 
with  money  in  his  pocket  would  enjoy  a  longer  acquaintance 
with  the  delights  of  the  wonderful  metropolis,  he  got  into  the 
train  with  a  sense  of  relief  and  pleasure. 

He  was  going  back  to  hard  work;  but  he  was  fond  cf  hard 
work,  and  he  had  grown  fond  of  the  home  farm.  He  might 
have  added,  of  Vancourt  Towers  and  the  mistress  thereof; 
but  he  would  not  admit  as  much,  even  to  himself.  When  he 
got  out  at  the  small  country  station  with  the  bag  which  con- 
tained, amongst  other  things,  his  dress  clothes  which  had 
seen  such  adventures,  and  the  mysterious  pocket-book,  he  was 
prepared  to  walk  to  the  home  farm;  but  he  found  a  dog-cart 
from  the  Towers  awaiting  him. 

"  Miss  Vancourt  sent  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Giles,  touch- 
ing his  hat  as  usual. 

"  Very  kind  of  her,"  said  Jack.     "  Any  news,  Giles?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  Giles.  "  Leastways,  not  much. 
Martin  got  out  of  bed  yesterday,  and  hurt  hisself,  and  the 
doctor  sent  him  back  again.  And  there's  been  some  poach- 
ers in  the  West  Spinney." 

"  Martin's  an  idiot;  and  that  poaching  will  have  to  be 
stopped,"  said  Jack. 


114  IXJVE,  THE 

"Hope  you've  enjoyed  yourself  in  Lunnun,  sir?" 
Giles. 

"  Oh,  very  much,  thank  you,"'  replied  Jack,  drily,  think- 
ing of  his  adventures. 

The  dog-cart  sprang  along  the  road,  and  Jack,  as  he  drove 
the  good  horse,  drew  a  long  breath  and  felt  how  pleasant  it 
was  to  be  back.  As  they  were  passing  the  principal  gate  of 
the  Towers,  who  should  come  out  but  Miss  Esther  Vancourt 
herself.  At  sight  of  her,  Jack's  heart  gave  a  curious  little 
bound:  he  thought  it  was  one  of  admiration;  for  she  was  a 
beautiful  picture,  standing  there  in  her  white  frock,  with  the 
sunlight  dancing  in  her  grey  eyes.  Close  beside  her  was  Bob 
— Bob  apparently  quite  happy  and  contented.  Jack  raised 
his  hat  and  was  going  to  drive  on;  but  she  held  up  her  hand 
with  a  little  imperious  gesture  which  struck  Jack  as  de- 
licious, and  so  he  pulled  up. 

"  You  have  come  back,  Mr.  Gordon?"  she  said,  with  a 
faint  smile  and  as  faint  a  blush  in  the  clear  pallor  of  her 
cheek. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Vancourt/'  he  said.  "  I've  got  the  machines 
all  right;  they'll  be  down  directly." 

"  I  hope  you've  had  a  pleasant  time,"  said  Esther.  "  You 
see,  I  have  Bob  here.  He  fretted  after  you  had  gone,  and  I 
brought  him  up  to  the  house.  He  seems  to  have  taken  to  me, 
and  he  appears  to  be  pretty  happy.  He  follows  me  about 
everywhere;  but  of  course  he'll  desert  me  now,"  she  added, 
as  Bob,  having  heard  his  master's  voice,  made  futile  attempts 
to  climb  into  the  dog-cart. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Jack.  "  Go  back,  Bob! 
Go  back  at  once!" 

Bob,  with  drooping  tail  and  a  reproachful  glance,  sidled 
back  to  Esther. 

"  Oh,  let  him  go  with  you!"  she  said.  "  He  will  be  heart- 
broken." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Jack,  "  Bob  mustn't  be  ungrateful;  and 
he  must  learn  to  obey." 

Raising  his  hat,  he  drove  on,  and  was  in  due  course  de- 
posited at  the  home  farm;  and  there  he  found  Bob  awaiting 
him :  obedience  and  loving  devotion  had  been  in  conflict,  and 
the  latter  had  won. 

Jack  went  up  to  Martin,  and  found  him  despondent  and 
rebellious. 

"  You  were  an  ass  to  get  out  of  bed,"  said  Jack,  "  though 
I  can  quite  understand  it:  I  should  have  been  just  as  great  an 
ass  myself.  And  now  you'll  have  to  lie  here  a  few  weeEs 


LOVE,  THE  TYBAOTc 

longer.  But  don't  you  worry!  Things  are  going  on  all  right; 
I've  bought  the  machines  you've  wanted  all  these  years,  and 
we'll  get  in  the  crops  as  they  should  be  got  in;  and  by  the 
time  you're  right  again  I  shall  be  able  to  sheer  off  with  a  clear 
conscience." 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  escape  from  Nettie,  who  welcomed 
him  as  if  hi  had  been  away  for  years,  and  who  insisted  upon 
sitting  upon  his  knee  while  he  had  his  tea. 

"  Miss  Vancourt's  been  very  tind  to  me  while  you  have 
been  away,  Jack,"  she  said.  "  I've  been  ever  so  many  rides 
in  the  jingle  with  her.  And  we  talk  about  you  most  of  the 
time.  She  said  I  must  be  very  good  and  do  as  you  tell  me. 
But  I  do,  don't  I,  Jack?" 

"It  would  be  very  bad  for  you  if  you  didn't,"  said  Jack, 
with  mock  severity.  "  Now  I've  come  back,  I'm  going  to 
keep  you  in  order.  This  measles  business  is  about  played 
out,  and  you'll  have  to  carry  me  instead  of  me  carrying  you. 
So  Miss  Vancourt  has  been  '  tind '  to  you,  has  she?" 

After  he  had  had  his  tea  he  went  to  the  cottage  and 
changed  his  clothes.  With  his  wages  he  had  bought  a  new 
suit  to  replace  his  torn  and  weather-staiaed  one,  and  he  put 
this  on  before  starting  on  his  round  of  inspection ;  for  the 
foreman  of  the  farm,  such  as  that  of  Vancourt,  needed  to  be 
always  on  the  alert.  He  went  round  the  fields,  gave  some 
directions  to  the  men  and  Georgie — the  latter  still  regarded 
him  with  saucer-like  eyes  and  gaping  mouth — and  then  walked 
towards  the  plantation.  It  was  so  called  because  Bichard,  in 
a  sudden  spasm  of  duty,  had  planted  some  larch  and  firs  on 
the  edge  of  a  steep  declivity  to  the  west  of  the  home  farm; 
but  although  he  had  planted  it,  he  had  neglected  it  after 
planting  it;  and  Jack  had  resolved  to  thin  out  some  of  the 
young  trees. 

While  he  was  looking  at  them  meditatively,  a  girl  came 
from  amongst  them  and  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  little  preci- 
pice which  was  made  by  the  sudden  drop  of  the  land. 

She  was  tall  and  graceful  and  wore  a  thin  shawl  over  her 
head,  and  Jack  saw  that  she  was  Kate  Transom,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  man  he  had  caught  poaching  in  the  wood.  She  was 
gathering  the  broken  branches  which  the  wind  had  torn  from 
the  trees,  and  Jack  watched  her  absently  enough.  The 
labourers  on  the  estate  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  gathering  the 
dead  wood,  and  she  was,  therefore,  not  trespassing;  but  Jack, 
as  he  watched,  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was  a  poor 
kind  of  occupation  for  so  beautiful  and  so  strong  a  girl. 

Quite  unconscious  of  his  presence,  Kate  went  on  with  her 


116  MJVE,  THE  TYRAOT. 

task,  aad  presently  stood  on  the  extreme  edge  of  tho  small 
precipice. 

"  If  that  bit  of  ground  were  to  give  way,  she'd  fall  and 
hurt  herself,"  thought  Jack. 

The  thought  had  no  sooner  crossed  his  mind  than  the  thing 
which  he  had  contemplated  happened.  The  strip  of  soil 
overhanging  the  hollowed  bank  yielded  beneath  the  pressure 
of  her  foot,  and  she  fell  almost  at  Jack's  feet. 

In  failing,  she  struck  her  head  against  the  trunk  of  an 
overhanging  tree,  and  she  lay  motionless  and  lifeless. 

Jack  knelt  beside  her  and  raised  her  head  to  his  knee.  She 
had  fainted  f i  om  the  blow  and  the  shock,  and  she  looked  like 
one  already  dead. 

If  the  accident  had  occurred  in  Australia,  Jack  would  have 
had  his  brandy  flask  ready;  but  he  had  no  flask  with  him 
now,  and  there  was  no  water  at  hand  wit.h  which  he  could  re- 
store her  to  her  senses.  She  was  in  a  dead  faint,  and  there 
were  no  means  at  hand  to  recover  her.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  carry  her  to  the  nearest  house;  and  the 
nearest  house  happened  to  be  his  o\  n  cottage 

It  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  he  should 
carry  her  there.  Though  she  was  tall,  she  was  slim  and 
light,  and  raising  her  in  his  arms,  he  put  her  over  his  shoulder 
and  slowly  carried  her  to  the  cottage. 

The  door  was  open,  and  he  placed  her  in  the  old-fashioned 
chair  in  which  she  could  recline  almost  at  full  length;  then 
he  got  some  water,  and,  awkwardly  enough,  no  doubt,  dabbed 
her  face  with  it. 

Kate  was  a  particularly  handsome  girl,  and  most  men 
would  have  been  struck  by  her  regular  features,  by  the  rich 
mass  of  hair  which  framed  her  white  face;  but  Jack  was  so 
intent  upon  restoring  her  to  consciousness,  that  he  had  no 
mind  left  for  her  personal  beauties. 

She  opened  her  eyes  at  last  and  sighed. 

"  It  was  not  my  fault,  father,"  she  murmured.  "  I  didn't 
know  that  I  was  so  near  the  edge.  I'm  sorry!" 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Jack.  "  You  didn't  know  that  the 
ground  was  hollowed  out  there.  Do  you  feel  better  now?" 

She  sat  up  and  looked  round  her  confusedly;  then,  as  her 
eyes  rested  on.Jack's  face,  the  colour  dyed  her  face  a  deep 
crimson. 

"  Where  am  I?"  she  asked.     "  Did  I  fall?" 

"  You  are  in  my  cottage,"  said  Jack.  "  The  edge  of  the 
plantation  gave  way  with  you.  Bat  I  hope  you're  not  hart? 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT.  117 

YOM  fell  and  struck  your  head.  Let  me  look  at  it.  Yes;  a 
nasty  blow,  just  on  the  temple.  1*11  bathe  it  for  you." 

He  got  some  more  water  and  bathed  the  wound.  She  lay 
back,  breathing  painfully,  with  her  eyes  half  closed. 

"  You  have — saved  my  life!"  she  said. 

Jack  laughed. 

"  Nonsense!"  he  said.  "  I  happened  to  be  near  when  you 
fell — that's  all.  Hold  on  a  minute;  I'll  give  you  some  tea. 
We  Australians  always  think  tea  a  sovereign  remedy  for  every 
ill  that  man  is  heir  to." 

"  Do  you  come  from  Australia?"  she  asked,  faintly. 
"  Father  has  just  come  back  from  there." 

Jack  bit  his  lip,  and  in  silence  made  the  tea.  She  drank  a 
little  of  it,  then  rose  and  looked  round  the  tiny  room,  as  if 
she  were  embarrassed. 

"  I  will  go  now,"  she  said.  "  I  am  quite  "well.  But  1 
want  to  thank  you,  and — I  can't!" 

She  stood,  her  eyes,  dark  and  lustrous,  fixed  on  his,  then 
veiled  by  their  lids.  There  was  something  in  her  gaze,  in  her 
very  reticence,  which  made  Jack  uncomfortable.  If  it  were 
not  inhuman,  he  almost  wished  she  would  go. 

"  Sure  you're  all  right?"  he  asked.  "  Shall  I  go  with  yo«? 
I  know  where  you  live,  you  know." 

"  No,  no!"  she  said.  "  I  am  quite  well,  quite  able  to 
walk  now." 

Jack  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  took  it  in  hers;  a  long 
hand,  browned  by  labour,  bat  shapely  as  a  lady's.  She  raised 
his  hand  to  her  lips,  and  kissed  it. 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  never  for- 
get! Some  day — some  time — I  may  be  able  to  tell  you  how 
grateful— to  repay  you —  But  I  can't  speak  nowl  Good- 
bye!" 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  morning  after  Jack's  return,  Esther  woke  with  a 
strange  sense  of  happiness,  so  strange  that  it  half  puzzled  her, 
because  the  last  two  or  three  days  she  had  felt  dull  and  out  of 
spirits  and  restless.  She  sang  while  she  was  dressing,  and 
she  was  singing  as  she  came  down  with  a  light  step  into  the 
breakfast-room  where  Miss  Worcester  was  awaiting  her. 

"  You  seem  happy  this  morning,  my  dear,"  said  that  lady, 
as  Esther  kissed  her;  and  she  looked  fondly  and  admiringly 
at  the  beautiful  face  with  its  sparkling  grey  eyes  and 
"  which  the  sun  had  kissed  to  crimson. 


118  X0VS,  THE  TYRAiTT. 


said  Esther.  "I  think  I  am.  %  no  wouldn't 
be  happy  om  such  a  lovely  morning?  Did  you  ever  see  the 
sky  so  blue,  the  flowers  so  gorgeous.  Oh,  it's  fine  to  be  rich 
and  to  live  in  a  beautiful  house;  to  look  out  upon  one's  own 
park  and  woods  and  fields,  and  to  know  that  one  is  mistress 
of  Vancourt  Towers.  Think  of  it,  aunt!  But  for  Sir  Rich- 
ard's will  —  "  She  stopped  a  moment  as  if  struck  by  a  sud- 
den thought  —  "  and  the  death  of  that  poor  young  fellow,  his 
nephew,"  she  added,  gravely,  "  this  morning  I  should  just  be 
starting  out  on  the  daily  drudgery  of  the  piano  instead  of 
sitting  here  at  this  gorgeous  breakfast,  my  own  mistress,  with 
all  the  day  before  me  to  do  what  I  like  in.  Aunt,  I  am 
firmly  convinced  that  this  is  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds!" 
she  wound  up  with  a  laugh. 

"  You  are  not  quite  free  to  do  what  you  like  to-day,  my 
dear,"  said  Miss  Worcester,  with  a  smile.  "  We  have  to 
lunch  with  the  Fan  worths  this  morning,  you  know." 

Esther  made  a  little  grimace,  then,  as  if  ashamed  of  it, 
said  quickly: 

*'  I  like  Lord  Fanworth;  he  is  so  pleasant  and  good-nat- 
ured; and  though  Lady  Fanworth  is  rather  stiff  and  formal, 
not  to  say  awesome,  I  think  she  is  kind  at  heart.  Oh,  jes,  I 
shall  enjoy  it;  I  feel  as  if  I  could  enjoy  anything  to-day. 
What  a  pile  of  letters!  I  suppose  most  of  them  are  begging 
letters,  as  usual.  Every  poor  person  in  the  world  seems  to 
have  learnt  of  my  good  fortune  and  flown  to  me  for  assist- 
ance. I  wish  I  could,  send  a  thousand  pounds  to  each  of 
them,  and  I  don't  like  to  believe  Mr.  Floss  when  he  says  that 
nine-tenths  of  the  letters  come  from  impostors." 

"  Charity  begins  at  home,  my  dear  Esther,"  remarked 
Miss  Worcester,*  as  if*  she  were  saying  something  desperately 
original.  "  I  am  sure  there  are  plenty  of  poor  in  Vaucourt." 

"  1  am  afraid  there  are,"  said  Esther.  "  I  ought  to  know 
them  all;  but  I  am  still  so  new  to  the  "business  that  I  am 
rather  shy.  I  always  feel  that  if  I  were  very  poor  I  shouldn't 
like  the  rich  person  of  the  place  to  come  poking  into  my  cot- 
tage and  asking  me  impertinent  questions;  I  should  be  proud 
and  disagreeable.  But  I  must  do  my  duty,  as  Mr.  Gordon 
says." 

Miss  Worcester  sniffed. 

"  Very  impertinent  of  Mr.  Gordon  to  make  such  a  remark, 
I  think,  my  dear." 

**  Oh,  no;  Mr.  Gordon  is  sometimes  —  rough,  but  he  ia 
never  impertinent,."  Esther  said,  as  she  turned  over  her  let- 


I07B,  THE  TYBAOT/  119 

ters  bu«fly.  4:  It  was  in  regard  to  the  farm  and  the  game 
that  he  made  the  remark." 

"  1  hear  he  is  back,"  said  Miss  Worcester;  "  but  I  don't 
suppose  it  is  true,  for  that  dog  of  his  was  lying  on  the  terrac* 
yesterday  afternoon." 

Esther  coloured  slightly. 

"  Mr.  Gordon  told  him  to  stay  with  me,  and  he  would  have 
done  so,  but  that  I  saw  that  he  was  breaking  his  heart  for  his 
master — poor  Bob,  he  looked  at  me  so  piteously — so  I  sent 
him  home;  and  he's  happy  enough  now,  I'll  be  bound." 

Amongst  her  letters  was  one  from  Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton,  and 
she  opened  and  read  it.  It  was  a  charming  letter,  full  of  re- 
grets that  he  was  in  smoky  London  instead  of  at  delightful 
Vancourt;  but  it  was  also  a  business  letter.  He  had  been 
making  enquiries  and  had  discovered  some  of  the  poor  mem- 
bers of  the  family;  and  he  thought  that  if  Esther  could  send 
him  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  he  could  distribute  it 
judiciously,  and,  of  course,  anonymously.  He  would  furnish 
Esther  with  the  names  of  the  recipients  when  he  had  com- 
pleted his  task. 

Esther  was  very  grateful  to  him,  and  after  breakfast  she 
went  to  the  library  and  unlocking  the  drawer,  in  which  she 
kept  her  deliciously  new  cheque-book,  carefully  wrote  a 
cheque  for  the  amount  named  and  enclosed  it  in  a  pretty  let- 
ter of  thanks.  He  was  not  to  bother  about  giving  her  the 
names,  and  she  would  be  glad  to  send  a  much  larger  sum  if 
he  could  dispose  of  it. 

She  felt  that  morning  as  if  she  would  like  to  make  every- 
body in  the  world  happy. 

She  went  out  on  the  terrace,  and  leaning  on  the  stone 
balustraJe,  looked  about  her,  singing  softly;  but  presently 
her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  blue  wreath  of  smoke  which  rose 
from  the  farm  lodge,  and,  perhaps  it  was  only  natural,  her 
thoughts  wandered  to  Jack  Gordon. 

She  did  not  realise  how  often  she  thought  of  him,  and  cer- 
tainly did  not  realise  how  much  she  had  missed  him  while  he 
had  been  away;  and  all  her  thoughts  this  morning  were  fa- 
vourable to  him.  Woman  is  quick  to  recognise  a  strong  nat- 
ure, and  she  cannot  come  in  contact  with  one  without  feeling 
its  influence.  There  was  something  about  Jack's  independ- 
ence and  self-reliance,  his  prompt  and  masterful  way  of  get- 
ting what  he  wanted,  of  doing  what  he  wished,  which  fasci- 
nated her.  And  yet  with  all  ms  masterfulness  and  dominance 
there  was  combined  a  gentleness  and  tenderness  towards  all 
things  weaker  than  himself  which  impressed  her  more  tham 


120  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT* 

all  else  in  his  character.  He  was  like  a  woman  in  his  otre 
and  affection  for  Nettie  and  Bob;  and  even  to  herself  he  had 
at  times  been  gentle  and  almost  tender. 

Since  he  had  come  to  the  farm  she  had  been  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  security,  of  encouragement,  which  seemed  strange  and 
inexplicable,  seeing  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  Vancourt 
Towers  and  the  man  was  only  her  servant.  She  felt  that 
sense  of  security  very  strongly  this  morning  as  she  knew  that 
he  was  back  and  was  near  her,  almost  within  call. 

As  the  thought  occurred  to  her,  she  was  conscious  of  a  de- 
sire to  see  him,  to  call  to  him,  and  it  startled  her,  and  after  a 
moment  annoyed  her. 

Why  should  she  be  thinking  so  frequently  of  this  young 
man,  this  stranger  who  had  come  from  no  one  knew  where, 
who  had  to  be  off  again  no  one  knew  whither  as  soon  as  Mar- 
tin could  get  about  again? 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  little  gesture  of  impa- 
tience. 

"  All  this  wealth  and  luxury  is  making  me  slothful  and 
fanciful,"  she  said,  with  self-rebuke.  "  I  must  find  some- 
thing to  do,  something  to  occupy  what  I  call  my  mind." 

Her  aunt's  speech  about  the  Vancourt  poor  occurred  to 
her.  There  were  several  vacant  hours  before  they  need  to 
start  for  the  Fanworths;  she  would  fill  in  the  tune  by  visiting 
some  of  the  poor  cottagers;  she  had  to  make  a  start  with  the 
thing,  and  the  sooner  she  did  so  the  better.  She  got  her 
broad-brimmed  hat  from  the  hall,  and  with  a  strange  feeling 
of  happiness  singing  about  her  heart,  went  out  forthwith. 
Now,  the  nearest  way  to  the  village  was  through  the  home 
farm;  but  just  because  of  her  vague  desire  to  see  Mr.  Gordon, 
she  made  a  detour  round  the  park  and  came  on  the  village  by 
the  west  lodge.  There  were  very  few  people  about,  but  those 
who  were,  greeted  her  as  if  she  were  a  kind  of  queen;  as,  in- 
deed,  she  was  to  those  simple  folks  with  whom  the  Towers 
was  quite  as  grand  and  important  a  place  as  Windsor  Castle 
or  Buckingham  Palace. 

The  men  touched  their  hats,  the  women  curtseyed,  and 
some  gave  "  Good-morning,  miss,"  with  that  mixture  of  feu- 
dal respect  and  affection  which  still  flourishes  in  rural  Eng- 
land. 

Esther  stopped  and  spoke  to  some  of  the  children,  and 
asked  questions  of  a  woman  respecting  a  sick  child  which  she 
held  closely  wrapped  in  a  blanket.  The  woman  was  nervous 
and  overwhelmed  by  Miss  Vancourt's  kindness,  and  Esther 
was  a  little  sky  at  first;  but  her  shyness  wore  off  after  awhile. 


KJVB,  THE  TYRAST.  121 

She  promised  to  send  down  some  dainties  for  the  child  from 
the  Towers,  then  went  on  her  way.  She  had  often  noticed 
the  dilapidated  cottages  at  the  end  of  the  lane  or  street,  and 
as  she  came  to  them  now  she  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to 
visit  one  of  them. 

The  Transoms'  door  happened  to  be  open,  and  she  went  up 
to  it  and  knocked  gently;  then,  seeing  a  girl  bending  over  the 
fire,  she  stepped  in  with  a  pleasant  "  Good-morning!" 

Kate  started,  and  turned  and  regarded  her  visitor  with  a 
half-frightened  look.  The  sunlight  was  streaming  unon 
Esther,  and  in  her  beauty  and  grace  she  looked  like  a  vision 
to  the  labourer's  daughter,  who  gazed  at  her  in  silence.  On 
her  part,  Esther  was  somewhat  startled  by  Kate's  rustic 
beauty.  She  noticed  the  girl's  hair,  bound  in  a  glorious  coil 
of  bronze  at  the  back  of  her  head;  and  presently  she  saw  that 
after  the  momentary  flush,  the  girl's  face  was  pale  and  wan, 
as  if  she  were  ill  or  in  trouble.  They  stood  and  looked  at 
each  other  for  a  minute,  neither  of  them  guessing  how  im- 
portant a  part  each  was  to  play  in  the  other's  life;  then 
Esther  said: 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  a  glass  of  water?  It  is 
so  very  hot,  and  I  am  thirsty." 

Kate  murmured  something  inaudibly,  drew  a  chair  up  for 
her  visitor,  and  taking  up  a  glass,  went  out  for  the  water. 
When  she  had  filled  the  glass,  she  stood  looking  straight  be- 
fore her,  her  brows  knit,  her  lips  closely  set.  Since  the  day 
she  had  watched  Jack  Gordon  walking  beside  Esther,  Kate 
had  taken  an  instinctive  dislike  to  her,  though  why  she  could 
not  have  told.  Any  one  of  the  other  women  in  the  village 
would  have  felt  honoured  and  flattered  by  a  visit  from  the 
young  mistress  of  the  Towers;  but  to  Kate,  Esther's  presence 
was  unwelcome.  Her  very  beauty  and  grace  roused  some- 
thing antagonistic  in  Kate's  bosom,  and  even  the  gentle  voice 
jarred  upon  her.  As  she  remembered  how  Mr.  Gordon  and 
Miss  Vancourt  had  laughed  and  talked  and  looked  at  each 
other  as  th^ey  passed  her  hiding-place  in  the  wood,  Kate's 
handsome  face  darkened  and  a  strange  feeling  of  resentment 
rose  within  her.  Why  had  she  come?  What  did  she  want? 
Why  could  not  the  mistress  of  \  aucourt  Towers  leave  such 
humble  people  as  themselves  alone?  She  had  Mr.  Gordon  tc 
walk  with  and  talk  with.  What  else  did  she  want? 

She  went  in  with  the  water  at  last,  and  set  it  down  on  the 
table  beside  Esther,  and  Esther  drank  some. 

"  Thank  you  very  much!"  she  said.  "  How  deliciously 
colditisl  I  am  ashamed  to  trouble  you.  I  daresay  you  know 


122  LOVE,  THE  TTEANT. 

who  I  am,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  don't  know  who  ywi 
are.  You  must  remember  that  I  have  only  just  come  to  the 
Towers,  and  that  I  have  not  had  time  to  make  acquaintance 
—friends — with  all  my — the— people." 

She  said  this  very  pleasantly  and  apologetically,  but  Kate 
was  not  softened.  Esther's  morning  frock,  plain  though  it 
was,  her  gauntlet  gloves,  old  though  they  were,  affronted  her. 
Everything  about  her,  simple  and  neat  though  it  was,  seemed 
to  mark  the  difference  between  the  mistress  of  Vancourt 
Towers  and  herself. 

"  My  name  is  Transom,  miss;  Kate  Transom/'  she  said. 

"Kate!"  said  Esther.  "What  a  pretty  name!  I  wish 
my  godmothers  and  godfathers,  or  whoever  had  the  naming 
of  me,  had  called  me  Kate.  My  name  is  so  ugly — Esther;  .'.': 
is  so  hard  and  unsympathetic.  But  I  suppose  we  never  likj 
our  own  names.  What  a  pretty  cottage  you  have!" 

Kate  had  gone  back  to  the  fire-place  and  was  doing  some- 
thing with  the  large  kettle  hanging  on  the  crook. 

"  It  is  very  old,"  she  said,  "  and  the  rain  comes  through 
the  thatch,  and  when  there's  a  storm  the  water  floods  the 
floor." 

Her  tone  was  almost  sullen,  though,  at  ordinary  tunes, 
Kate  was  seldom  sullen. 

"  Oh,  dear!"  said  Esther,  "  that  must  be  put  right  at  once. 
I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Gordon  about  it." 

Kate  shot  a  quick  look  at  her. 

**  Mr.  Fulford,  thetsteward,  generally  sees  to  such  things,'* 
Bhe  said.  "  But  it's  not  often  that  he  troubles." 

Esther  coloured  faintly  and  bit  her  lip.  How  was  it  that 
she  had  thought  of  Mr.  Gordon  before  Mr.  Fulford,  the 
proper  person? 

""Of  course!"  she  said.  "  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Fulford, 
and  it  shall  be  done  at  once.  If  I  had  known,  it  should  have 
been  done  before;  but  I  know  so  little  about  the  estate.  You 
live  here  with  your  father  and  mother?" 

"With  my  father,  miss,"  said  Kate.  "  My  mother's 
dead." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Esther,  gently.  "  Does  your  father 
work  on  the  estate?" 

Kate  coloured  and  turned  to  the  kettle  again. 

"  No,  miss — that  is,  sometimes.  He  has  only  just  come 
from  abroad." 

"  And  you  live  here  all  alone  with  him?"  said  Esthei. 
'•'  And  he  k  out  all  day?  You  most  feel  very  dull  sometimes. 


LOTE,  THE  TYBAJTT.  123 

What  pretty  flowers  yon  have  in  your  garden!  Are  yon  fond 
of  them?" 

"  Fond  of  them?    Yes,  miss;  I  suppose  so." 

"  Will  yon  come  up  to  the  Towers  some  day  and  see  the 
flowers  there?  Will  you  come  to-morrow?  No,  not  to-mor- 
row; on  Saturday — on  Saturday  afternoon.  I  shall  be  at 
home  and  will  show  them  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  replied  Kate,  coldly. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  or  two — a  silence  which 
Esther  found  awkward  and  embarrassing.  She  wondered  why 
this  handsome  girl  with  the  bronze-gold  hair  and  the  dark 
brown  eyes  should  be  so  cold  and  ungenial;  and  with  a  sort 
of  resolve  that  she  would  woo  her  to  a  pleasanter  mood,  be- 
fore she,  Esther,  went,  she  sat  on,  trying  to  think  of  some- 
thing pleasant  to  say — something  that  would  melt  this  cold 
and  reluctant  rustic  beauty.  If  this  was  the  kind  of  recep- 
tion she  was  to  get  from  all  her  "  people,"  she  would  not  be 
encouraged  to  continue  her  visiting. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  very  hard  winters  here?"  she  said. 

"  Winters?"  interrogated  Kate.  "  Oh,  yes!  they  are  hard 
enough,  miss.  Last  winter  we  had  the  snow — " 

She  stopped  as  if  she  were  listening,  and  Esther  heard  a 
firm  step  coming  up  the  garden  path.  Kate  was  looking  to- 
wards the  door,  her  pale  face  colouring,  her  thick  eyebrows 
moving  nervously.  Esther  looked  at  her  and  waited  to  see 
what  had  embarrassed  her. 

A  knock  sounded  at  the  door,  and  turning  her  head,  Esther 
saw  Jack  Gordon  in  the  door-way. 

He  seemed  surprised  at  seeing  her,  but  was  quite  self-pos- 
sessed, and  raised  his  hat  to  both  girls. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said,  still  standing  in 
the  door-way.  "  How  are  you,  Miss  Transom?  None  the 
worse  for  your  accident  last  night,  I  hope?" 

His  voice  struck  a  manly  note  between  the  two  feminine 
ones.  He  stood  erect  as  a  dart,  his  handsome  face  perfectly 
grave  and  serene.  Kate's  had  flushed  a  rosy  red,  then  gone 
pale;  her  hand  fell  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  which  she  gripped 
tightly. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,  sir,"  she  said. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Jack,  with  his  peculiar  drawl. 
"  Good-morning.  Good-morning,  Miss  Vancourt;"  and  off 
he  went. 

Esther  had  Oeen  startled  by  his  appearance,  and  a  faint 
colour  had  risen  to  her  face.  It  was  there  still  as  she  turned 
a  look  of  inquiry  upon  Kate. 


124  W>VE,  THE  TYBAOT. 

"  Did  yon  have  an  accident  yesterday?"  sh«  asked. 

Kate  turned  her  back  and  lifted  the  kettle  from  its  crook. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  reluctantly.  "  It  was  nothing  much.  I 
was  gathering  sticks  in  the  spinney.  I  was  on  the  cutting 
they'd  made  for  the  quarry,  and  the  earth  gave  way  and  I 
fell." 

"  I  am  so  sorry!  Did  you  hurt  yourself?  How  did  Mr. 
Gordon  know?"  said  Esther. 

"  He  was  down  there  below  me,"  replied  Kate,  still  reluct- 
antly .  "  I  wasn't  hurt  much;  but  my  head  struck  against 
something,  and  I  fainted." 

"  Yes?"  said  Esther,  with  keen  interest 

Kate  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  And  Mr.  Gordon  picked  me  up,  and — and  carried  rae  to 
his  cottage,  and — brought  me  to." 

Esther,  open-eyed  and  eager,  looked  at  her. 

"  How  fortunate  for  you  that  he  was  there!  It  is  just  what 
he  would  do.  You  say  that  he  carried  you?  You  must  be 
very  heavy." 

"  Yes,  he  carried  me,"  said  Kate,  almost  sullenly.  "  He 
is  very  strong.  I  soon  came  to.  I  am  all  right  again.  It 
was  nothing." 

Esther  rose. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said.  "  If  Mr.  Gordon — if  no  one 
had  been  there — you  might  have  lain  there  for  ever  so  long- 
Are  you  sure  you  are  quite  well?  You  are  looking  very  pale. 
May  I  send  you  some  wine?" 

The  colour  flooded  Kate's  face. 

"  No,  thank  you,  miss,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  any 
wine.  I  don't  want  anything." 

Esther  was  frozen  by  the  girl's  emphatic  refusal. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "Good-bye.  But  you  will  not 
forget  to  come  up  on  Saturday  to  see  the  flowers." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  tried  to  smile  pleasantly;  but 
the  girl's  manner  had  made  the  smile  difficult.  Kate  took 
the  small  hand  from  which  Esther  had  withdrawn  its  glove, 
and  Esther  felt  the  girl's  hand  burning  hot. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WITH  another  good-bye  she  left  the  cottage.  For  some 
reason  or  other  the  happiness  of  the  early  morning  had  fled. 
She  felt  no  inclination  to  sing  now;  she  pictured  Mr.  Gordon 
carrying  Kate  Transom  in  his  arms  to  the  cottage,  and  it  was 
net  a  pleasing  picture  to  her  mental  vision.  How  strong  he 


LOVE,  THE  TYBANT.  125 

inust  be,  for  the  girl  was  tall  and  finely  proportioned.  She 
was  handsome,  too,  if  not  actually  beautiful,  and,  of  course, 
any  man  would  admire  her.  The  girl  had  flushed  when  Mr. 
Gordon  had  entered:  of  course  she  would  admire  him  and  be 
filled  with  gratitude  for  his  goodness  to  her.  Esther's  brows 
drew  straight  and  a  cloud  came  over  her  face.  If  any  ona 
had  told  her  that  she  was  jealous,  she  would  have  been  ready 
to  slay  them  in  her  pride  and  wrath;  and  yet — why  had  all 
her  happiness  £ed,  why  did  the  picture  of  Mr.  Gordon  carry- 
ing the  girl  haunt  her  so  persistently  and  unpleasantly? 

While  she  was  asking  herself  the  question,  Jack  came  round 
the  corner.  He  was  coming  along  with  his  firm,  quick  stride, 
his  whip  in  his  hand.  He  looked  exasperatingly  handsome 
and  graceful  in  his  new  riding  suit;  and  again  Esther  thought: 
how  could  the  girl  help  admiring  him?  She  was  about  to 
pass  him  with  a  cold  bow,  but  Jack  pulled  up,  and  raising  his 
hat  said,  in  his  cool,  self-possessed  way: 

"  When  will  it  be  convenient  for  you  to  go  into  accounts 
with  me,  Miss  Van  court;  I  mean  about  the  money  I  have 
spent  in  London?  I  have  all  the  receipts,  and  it  won't  take 
five  minutes." 

"  Not  to-day,"  said  Esther,  trying  to  speak  as  coldJy  as 
she  had  bowed.  "  I  am  going  to  lunch  at  Lord  Fan  wo *>_'d 
and  I  am  late  already." 

"  Yes?"  he  said,  cheerfully,  as  if  he  had  not  observed  her 
coldness.  "  It's  an  hour's  drive." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  Esther,  with  some  sur- 
prise. 

"  Oh,  every  one  knows  where  the  Hall  is,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  But  you  are  a  stranger  here!"  argued  Esther. 

"  Yes;  but  I  don't  walk  about  with  my  eyes  and  ears 
shut,"  he  remarked  in  the  laconic  fashion  which  so  often 
astonished  and  nettled  her. 

He  was  walking  beside  her  as  if  he  had  the  right  to  do  so. 
Presently  they  passed  the  public-house.  Two  men  were  lean- 
ing against  the  door — Transom  and  Dick  Reeve.  Transom 
touched  his  cap,  then  looked  down  on  the  ground;  Dick 
Reeve  touched  his,  but  in  a  sullen  fashion,  and  stared  at  them 
with  a  sort  of  impudent  defiance. 

"  Who  are  those  men?"  asked  Esther. 

"  The  elder  is  Kate  Transom's  father;  the  younger  is  a  fel- 
low called  Dick  Reeve.  A  bad  lot,  I'm  afraid;  and  I  suspect 
the  worst  poacher  in  the  district;  he  has  gipsy  .blood  in  him, 
and  he  is»  I  am  told,  a  desperate  rascal.  Like  all  gipsies,  ho 


126  LOVE,  THE  TY35AOT. 

is  as  cunning  as  a  weasel,  and  always  manages  to  escape 
Baynes,  the  keeper;  bat  we  shall  get  hold  of  the  fellow  some 
day,  I've  no  doubt." 

Esther  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  the  picturesque 
ruffian;  but  she  was  interested  iu  everybody  connected  with 
Kate  Transom. 

"  You  know  the  girl  whose  cottage  I  have  just  left,  Mr. 
Gordon?"  she  asked,  with  an  assumption  of  indifference,  but 
glancing  at  him  with  covert  scrutiny. 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  casually,  "  I've  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  most  of  the  people,  hunting  up  farm  bauds,  and  so 
on." 

"  Don't  you  think  she  is  a  very  beautiful  girl?"  asked 
Esther,  with  that  suave  serenity  with  which  a  woman  masks 
her  intense  interest. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  she  is,"  assented  Jack.  "  Got  nice  hair 
and  eyes,  hasn't  she?  Haven't  noticed  her  myself  particu- 
larly." 

I  thought  you  sajd  you  didn't  walk  about  with  yonr  eyes 
shut,  Mr.  Gordon." 

Jack  laughed  at  this  neat  retort. 

"  Oh,  they're  open  enough  for  anything  which  interests  me 
or  concerns  my  business,"  he  said.  "  She  isn't  any  business 
of  mine." 

"  And  yet  she  tells  me  that  you  were  very  kind  to  her  last 
night,"  said  Esther,  with  the  same  deceptive  suavity. 

"  Oh,  did  she?  It  was  nothing  to  speak  of.  The  poor  girl 
fell  over  the  bank  and  knocked  her  head.  I  couldn't  very 
well  leave  her  in  a  fainting  fit,  and  so  I  picked  her  up  and 
brought  her  to.  Of  course  she  hadn't  any  right  to  be  there 
at  all,  but  I  understand  the  people  on  the  estate  have  always 
been  allowed  to  gather  wood  in  the  woods  and  spinneys." 

"  Oh,  yes — yes!"  said  Esther.  "  I  wouldn't  stop  it  for  the 
world;  so  don't,  please,  talk  of  my  duty,  Mr.  Gordon." 

She  had  drawn  a  breath  of  relief  and  the  cloud  had  van- 
ished from  her  face;  it  was  bright  and  smiling  as  she  turned 
it  to  him  now,  and  the  sudden  sunshine  on  it  struck  Jack,  so 
that,  unconsciously,  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  with  an  admira- 
tion which  she  could  not  fail  to  feel;  for  Master  Jack's  eyes 
were  exceedingly  expressive  ones,  and  you  could  tell  in  an  in- 
stant, unless  he  chose  to  put  on  his  impassive  look,  whe^'^r 
he  was  angry  or  pleased,  admiring  or  contemptuous.  Esther 
felt  the  blood  rise  to  her  face  under  his  contemplative  gaze, 
and  she  turned  her  face  away. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  127 

"You  haven't  told  me  anything  about  your  visit  to  town," 
she  said,  presently,  "though  I  understood  you'd  had  a  good 
time." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Jack;  and  he  laughed  grimly  as  he  thought 
of  his  encounter  with  the  bushranger  and  his  capture  of 
the  pocket-book,  with  its  valuable  contents,  which  was  locked 
up  in  his  bag  in  the  cottage.  "I  was  pretty  busy  all  the 
time,  getting  the  best  machinery  I  could  for  my  money — 
beg  pardon,  I  mean  your  money !  It  will  be  down  to-mor- 
row or  next  day,  and  I  hope  you'll  come  and  look  at  it.  We 
shall  begin  cutting  the  grass  as  soon  as  possible;  season's 
early  this  year.  We  shall  want  all  the  hands  we  can  get. 
I  suppose  you  wouldn't  condescend  to  help,  Miss  Vancourt?" 

Esther's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Of  course  I  will !  Why,  it  will  be  delightful !  We  must 
have  a  hay-party,  and  a  harvest-supper — that's  the  proper 
thing  to  do,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Gordon?" 

Jack  laughed  at  her  innocence  and  ignorance  as  he  looked 
into  the  grey  eyes,  glowing  like  a  child's  with  anticipation. 

"Oh,  that  comes  later,  when  we  get  in  the  corn,"  he  said, 
"Yes;  we'll  have  a  supper,  a  regular  beano." 

Esther  could  not  help  noticing  his  masterful  tone;  but 
somehow,  she  did  not  resent  it.  She  had  an  uneasy  feel- 
ing that  if  he  had  said  there  should  be  no  supper,  indeed, 
no  harvest,  there  would  have  been  neither. 

Though  she  had  intended  to  return  by  the  way  she  had 
come,  she  had  mechanically  walked  beside  him  toward  the 
home  farm.  Every  now  and  then  Jack  stopped  to  pick  some 
of  the  wild  hyacinths  which  grew  in  profusion  around  them, 
and  by  the  time  they  had  reached  the  cottage  he  had  a  large 
bunch  of  them  in  his  hand.  Now,  Esther  had  been  watching 
this  flower-gathering  with  a  concealed  curiosity  and  interest. 
What  was  he  going  to  do  with  them ;  was  he — going  to  offer 
them  to  her?  If  so,  ought  she  to  accept  them  or  to  feel  of- 
fended at  his  presumption? 

When  they  reached  the  cottage,  Jack  stepped  in  and  placed 
the  hyacinths  in  a  jug  of  water;  then  he  was  coming  out 
again,  but  paused. 

"I've  got  all  the  receipts  here,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said, 
"and  the  balance  of  the  money ;  won't  you  take  them  ?" 

"Couldn't  you  bring  them  to  the  house  ?"  she  asked,  coldly ; 
he  had  evidently  no  intention  of  offering  her  the  flowers; 
had,  as  evidently,  no  idea  of  common  politeness. 

"Well,  I'm  very  busy,"  said  Jack.    "I've  been  away, 
know,  and  every  minute's  of  value  to  me." 


12S  IOVE,  THE  TYRAirr. 

"  Oh,  if  you  insist  upon  it!"  said  Esther,  a  little  haughtily; 
and  she  stepped  inside. 

Jack  drew  a  chair  forward,  unlocked  his  bag  and  placed 
the  receipts  and  the  money  upon  the  table  in  the  most  self- 
possessed  and  business-like  way. 

"  You'll  find  an  account  of  my  personal  expenses,  Miss 
Vancoart,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  you  won't  think  them  heavy." 

Esther  gathered  up  the  papers  and  the  money,  and  put 
them,  in  the  mysterious  pocket  somewhere  behind  her. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  look  over  them?"  he  asked. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  when  I  get  home,"  she  said,  carelessly, 
"  and  perhaps  I  mayn't.  I  hate  accounts;  and  I  am  quite 
sure  I  can  trust  you,  Mr.  Gordon." 

Her  eyes  wandered  round  the  room,  as  Jack  turned  to  lock 
his  bag.  She  felt  a  strange  interest  in  everything  in  it.  In 
the  gun  standing  in  the  corner,  in  the  pipe  and  tobacco-pouci) 
— the  latter  made  of  some  skin  which  she  did  not  know;  but 
more  especially  in  the  axe  which  hung  on  the  wall,  the  axe 
•with  which  she  had  struck  him  the  blow  which  he  had  con- 
cealed so  skilfully  from  her  knowledge;  and  the  thought 
flashed  through  her — how  lonely  and  solitary  a  life  he  spent 
there,  and  how  the  presence  of  a  woman  would  cheer  and 
brighten  it.  Perhaps  some  day  he  would  fall  in  love — perhaps 
with  that  girl  with  the  bronze-gold  hair? 

Jack  turned  from  his  bag  to  look  at  her. 

"  How  do  you  know  you  can  trust  me?"  he  said  in  his 
brusque  way.  "  You  know  nothing  about  me,  and  I  may  be 
a  perfect  villain  for  all  you  can  tell.  Don't  trust  any  man 
until  you  know  him." 

Now,  as  he  spoke,  Esther  thought  of  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  which  she  had  just  sent  Mr.  Selby  Layton:  but 
of  course  she  knew  him! 

"  That  sound  like  a  copy-book  heading,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she 
said.  "  But  I've  no  doubt  you're  right,  and  I'll  go  over  the 
papers  to  see  that  you  haven't  cheated  me.  How  beautiful 
those  hyacinths  are/'she  broke  off,  with  a  woman's  irrelev- 
ance, and  looking  at  the  flowers  almost  wistfully. 

"  Oh,  hyacinths,'  are  they?"  said  Jack.  "  I  couldn't 
think  of  the  name  of  them.  They're  for  Nettie;  she's  very 
fond  of  them  and  likes  me  to  take  her  some  every  evening 
when  I  go  to  supper."  He  stretched  out  his  hand,  towards 
the  jug  as  if  he  were  going  to  take  out  some  of  the  flowers 
but  his  hand  stopped  half-way  and  he  did  not  do  so. 

The  colour  mounted  to  Esther's  face  and  she  bit  her  lip 
quickly,  and  rising  suddenly — so  suddenly  that  she  startled 


THE  TTEAUT.  129 

Bob,  tvho  nad  been  sitting  beside  her  with  his  head  npoo.  her 

lap— -she  said,  haughtily: 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Gordon!"  and  swept  ont  of  the  cot- 
tage  with  her  lady-of-the-manor  air  full  on.  Jack  looked  after 
her  with  a  puzzled  expression  and  tugging  at  his  moustache. 

"  Now,  what  the  Moses  offended  her,  I  wonder?"  he  said 
to  himself.  "  Something  I  said,  I  suppose;  but  for  the  life 
of  me,  I  can't  tell;  can  you,  Bob?" 

Before  she  had  reached  the  Towers,  Esther  began  to  feel 
ashamed  of  herself.  What  right  had  she  to  expect  him  to 
give  her  the  flowers;  and  how  much  less  right  had  she  to  treat 
with  such  scornful  hauteur  the  man  who  served  her  so  de- 
votedly and  worked  so  hard  in  her  interest?  She  told  herself 
that  she  had  behaved  like — a  shop-girl.  It  was  a,  strange 
thing  that  every  time  she  met  Mr.  Gordon  she  "  forgot  her- 
self," forgot  that  she  was  Miss  Vancourt  of  I  he  Towers  and 
that  he  was  merely  the  foreman  of  her  home  farm.  She  re- 
solved that  she  would  not  see  him  again  for  some  time — that 
she  would  put  so  insignificant  a  person  out  of  her  mind. 

Miss  Worcester  was  ready  and  waiting,  and  received  her 
with  the  look  of  a  deeplv  injured  person. 

"  The  carriage  has  been  waiting  some  time,  my  dear 
Esther,"  she  said;  "  and  I  am  afraid  we  shall  be  late.  Where 
have  you  been?" 

"  Been  doing  my  duty,  aunt,"  said  Esther.  "  Been  play- 
ing the  Lady  Bountiful  amongst  '  my  people.' ' 

She  said  nothing  of  her  meeting  with  Mr.  Gordon,  and  she 
hated  herself  for  not  being  able  to  speak  of  it.  Marie  and  she 
scrambled  on  her  things,  and  the  two  ladies  drove  to  the 
Hall.  Though  it  was  understood  that  no  large  party  could  be 
asked  to  meet  Miss  Vancourt,  who  was  in  mourning,  the  Fan- 
worths  had  invited,  informally,  one  or  two  neighbours  to 
lunch.  Of  course,  they  were  all  very  pleasant  to  Esther. 
The  Towers  was  the  principal  place  in  the  county,  and  she 
was  an  heiress  possessed  of  immense  wealth;  and  she  was  also 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  girls  in  the  county.  Lord  Fan- 
worth  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  ker  and  made  a  great  deal 
of  her,  and,  of  all  the  county  people  she  had  seen,  Esther 
liked  him  best.  He  was  a  tali  and  aristocratic-looking  old 
man  with  iron-grey  hair  and  a  close-shaven  face  which  almost 
always  wore  a  pleasant  and  genial  smile. 

Lady  Fanworth  was  rather  a  stately  dame  who  was  folly 
conscious  of  her  position,  and  had  been  prepared  to  patronise 
the  young  music-teacher  who  had  stepped  into  Vancourt 
Tower*  and  a  huge  fortune;  bat  Esther  was  not  easy  te 


130  I0VE,  THE  TYKAOT. 

patronise,  and  held  her  own  to  a  degree  which  surprised  and 
inwardly  discomfited  her  starchy  ladyship.  The  other  visitors 
were  Sir  Robert  Bruce  and  his  sister,  and  a  Major  Long,  who 
had  distinguished  himself  in  our  last  little  war.  They  all  paid 
court  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Vancourt,  and  Esther  had  a  very 
pleasant  time  of  it,  and  her  mind  was  so  occupied  with  the 
attentions  of  her  cavaliers  that  she  felt  that  siie  was  succeed- 
jig  in  forgetting  Mr.  Gordon.  But  alas!  as  she  was  walking 
across  the  lawn  with  Lord  Fan  worth,  Jack  was  again  brought 
to  her  inind. 

"  1  rode  over  to  the  Towers  the  other  day,  Miss  Vancourt," 
he  said,  "  but,  to  my  inexpressible  disappointment,  you  were 
not  at  home." 

"  Yes,  1  know.  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Esther.  "  If  I 
had  known,  I  would  have  remained  at  home." 

"  That  is  very  sweet  of  you,"  he  said.  "  I  tried  to  con- 
sole m  self  by  riding  round  your  farm — you  know  how  keen 
I  am  about  farming?  How  very  much  improved  your  farm 
is!  I  was  quite  surprised  and  puzzled  " — he  laughed — "  for 
I've  known  Martin  and  his  way  of  doing  things  for  many 
years,  until  I  was  told  you  had  got  a  new  foreman  during 
Martin's  illness.  He  must  be  a  splendid  fellow,  and  we  must 
not  let  him  go  out  of  the  district.  I  was  told  that  he  was 
going  when  Martin  got  about  again.  If  thac  is  so,  and  yoa 
want  to  get  rid  of  him  and  have  nothing  against  him,  1  bhould 
like  to  take  him  on  here.  He  is  just  the  kind  of  man  I  want, 
a  man  of  ideas,  and  one  who  evidently  knows  his  business, 
By  the  way,  they  told  me  his  name,  but  I  have  forgotten  it.*' 

"  His  name  is  Gordon,"  said  Esther,  rather  coldly.  "  Ye&, 
I  suppose  he  will  leave  when  Martin  is  able  to  look  after  the 
farm.  I  will  tell  him  that  you  would  like  to  have  him,  if 
you  like." 

"  Thank  vou  very  much,"  said  Lord  Fanworth.  "  But  if 
I  may  be  permitted  to  advise  you,  I  should  say  that  you  had 
better  keep  him  yourself;  he  must  be  simply  invaluable. " 

"  T  believe  that  he  understands  his  work,"  saiti  Esther,  still 
more  coldly — so  coldly  that  Lord  Fanworth  glanced  at  her 
curiously,  and  thought  that  there  was  something  against  the 
new  foreman  which  she  did  not  like  to  tell  him,  and  changed 
the  subject. 

Sir  Robert  Bruce  and  the  major  had  joined  them  and  took 
her  away  from  Lord  Fanworth;  but  though  they  made  them- 
selves extremely  pleasant,  and  paid  her  the  attentions  which 
were  due  to  so  beautiful  and  wealthy  a  girl,  Esther  could  not 
lorget  Jack  Gordon,  who  Lord  I  an  worth's  innocent  words 


LOVE,  THE  TYKAOT.  131 

had  recalled  to  her  mind;  and  as  she  drove  home,  her  aunt's 
comments  on  the  lunch  and  the  people  they  had  met  fell  upon 
unlistening  ears. 

"  One  of  the  oldest  baronetcies  in  the  kingdom — the 
Bruces' — my  dear  Esther.  They  are  descended  from  the 
Scotch  Bruces.  I  thought  their  place,  when  we  called  there 
the  other  day,  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  I  had  ever  seen." 
Esther  might  ha^e  said  that  neither  she  nor  her  aunt  had 
seen  many,  but  she  refrained.  "  Sir  Robert  asked  me  ever 
BO  many  questions  about  you  and  your  life  at  the  Towers.  I 
think  he  was  interested  in  you — intensely  so,  if  I  may  say  so. 
He  is  a  very  charming  man,  and  is  still  really  quite  young. 
He  has  not  a  grey  hair,  and  has  that  kind  of  figure  which 
lasts.  Major  Long,  too,  seemed  particularly  struck — how 
well  that  tailor-made  costume  becomes  you,  Esther!  They 
tell  me  he  has  a  large  estate  in  Yorkshire;  and'  he  is  quite 
famous.  He  asked  me  if  we  should  be  at  home  one  day  next 
week,  and  I  named  Thursday.  I  suppose  I  was  right;  we 
have  no  engagement  for  Thursday?" 

"  No,  I  think  not,  aunt,"  said  Esther,  absently.  "  Yes, 
they  were  all  very  kind;  but  I  think  I  like  Lord  Fan  worth 
best.  He  calls  me  *  My  dear '  now  and  then,  and  it '  kind  o* 
cheers  me,"  as  the  Americans  say." 

She  seemed  very  listless  and  thoughtful  for  the  rest  of  the 
drive,  and  listened  with  deaf  ears,  as  the  Spanish  say,  to  her 
aunt's  eulogiums  of  the  people  they  had  just  left.  So  Mr. 
Gordon  meant  to  leave  them?  How  long  would  it  be  before 
Martin  got  about  again? 

For  tne  next  two  or  three  days  Esther  did  not  leave  the 
boundary  of  the  park,  and  carefully  avoided  the  home  farm. 
The  machinery  came  down,  and  Jack  Gordon  superintended 
its  careful  unpacking.  He  was  rather  disappointed  that  Miss 
Vancourt  did  not  show  up  to  inspect  her  new  purchases;  but 
he  had  not  much  time  to  indulge  in  disappointment,  and  he 
was  quite  engrossed  in  the  putting  together  of  the  machinery 
which  he  had  bought,  and  with  which  he  intended  to  revolu- 
tionise the  coming  hay  harvest.  He  was  always  at  work, 
tramping  across  the  fields  with  Bob  at  his  heels,  overlook! i;g 
the  men  and  arranging  for  the  cutting  of  the  grass,  whicE 
now  swayed  knee-deep  in  the  summer  breeze.  He  was  so  in- 
terested that  at  times  he  forgot  that  the  wide-stretching  fields 
actually  belonged  to  him,  and  that  he  was  Sir  John  Vancou-rt, 
the  owner  of  the  Towers  and  the  land  over  which  he  rode, 
that  Esther  was  a  usurper. 

But  he  had  not  forgotten  that  Esther  had  desired  to  have 


132  I0VE,  THE  TYBA1TT. 

what  he  caued  M  beano,  and  the  day  before  tee  catting  tie 
sent  word  up  to  the  Towers  by  Georgie  that  flhey  were  going 
to  do  so. 

Esther  simply  said,  "  Very  well,"  and  sent  the  delighted 
Georgie  round  to  the  servants'  hall  that  he  might  be  regaled 
with  the  pie  and  ale  which  his  simple  soul  loved. 

She  had  almost  resolved  that  she  would  not  go  down  to  the 
•home  farm  and  would  take  no  part  in  the  hay  harvest;  but 
all  the  same,  she  told  Marie  to  look  out  a  white  cotton  dress 
and  a  sun-bonnet  for  her.  She  was  viewing  these  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  feeling  when  Miss  Worcester  burst  in  upon 
her,  though  "  burst  in  "is  scarcely  a  phrase  applicable  to 
Miss  Worcester's  dignified  movements,  for  that  lady  always 
moved  with  stately  precision. 

"  Here  is  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  my  dear," 
she  said.  "  He  is  coming  by  this  evening's  tram.  There  is 
just  time  to  meet  him." 

Esther  nodded  indifferently.  She  had  almost  forgotten  Mr. 
Selby  Layton;  she  was  engrossed  by  the  thought  that  for 
some  days — how  many? — she  had  not  seen  Mr.  Gordon. 

Selby  Layton  arrived  just  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner;  and 
Esther  found  him,  clad  in  his  immaculate  evening  attire,  in 
the  drawing-room.  His  manner  was,  as  usual,  soft  and 
charming,  and  he  apologised  for  his  visit  in  well-rehearsed 
terms. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you,  my  dear  Miss  Vancourt,  that 
I  could  not  write;  that  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  come  down.  I 
trust  yon  will  pardon  my  presumption?" 

Esther  said  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him;  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  she  was;  for  the  last  few  days  in  which  she  had  not 
seen  Jack  Gordon  had  hung  heavily  upon  her  hands.  Mr. 
Selby  Layton  made  himself  very  pleasant  at  dinner;  he  was 
full  of  London  gossip,  which  he  retailed  with  the  most  perfect 
art;  and  every  now  and  then  Esther  found  herself  listening 
to  him  with  something  like  interest.  After  dinner,  he  joined 
them  in  the  drawing-room  and  sang  two  or  three  songs  in  his 
sweet,  not  to  say  perfect,  voice.  He  had  made  himself  very 
pleasant,  bat  he  had  said  nothing  of  the  business  which  had 
brought  him  down.  No  doubt  he  was  reserving  this  for  the 
next  day.  Esther  did  not  mind  in  the  least.  He  amused  her 
and  kept  her  from  thinking  of — other  things. 

When  the  ladies  had  retired  for  the  night,  Mr.  Selby  Lay- 
ton  lit  a  cigarette  and  went  out  on  the  terrace.  It  was  a 
bright,  moonlight  night,  aud  half  absently  he  went  down  the 
steps,  crossed  the  park  and  entered  the  wood.  A  nightingale 


LOVE,  THE  TTRAJTT.  133 

was,  *higi.»g  bewitchingly;  and  Selby  Layton  made  hid  way 
amongst  the  trees  in  a  contemplative  mood.  Ho  was  think- 
ing of  the  girl  who  owned  all  this,  and  was  so  absorbed  that 
he  went  farther  than  he  had  intended.  Suddenly  a  sound, 
the  sound  of  footsteps  near  him,  caused  him  to  stop  short. 
As  he  did  so,  a  girl  stepped  cautiously  from  amongst  the  trees 
and  stopped,  startled  and  affrighted,  in  front  of  him.  It  was 
Kate  Transom.  The  moonlight  shone  full  upon  her  face5 
and  its  rustic  beauty  smote  Selby  La;  ton,  who  was  suscepti- 
ble, very  susceptible,  to  feminine  charms. 

They  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  Selby  Layton  said: 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

Kate's  face  had  flushed  crimson,  but  it  was  now  pale.  She 
stood  before  him,  embarrassed  and  nervous,  and  said  noth- 
ing. Selby  Layton  looked  at  her  with  admiration  glowing  in 
his  eyes. 

"  It's  late  for  a  young  girl  like  you  to  be  o»t  in  the  woods,'* 
he  said.  "  What  does  it  mean?  What  is  your  mame?" 

"  Kate — Kate  Transom,  sir,"  she  said.  "  My  father—** 
She  stopped. 

"  Your  father's  here,  eh?"  said  Selby  Layton.  *:  Tres- 
passing— poaching,  I  suppose?" 

As  he  spoke,  there  was  a  rustle  in  the  brake  behind  himj 
but  he  neither  heard  it  nor  saw  the  figure  of  Dick  Reeve 
which  stole  up  close  beside  them  with  his  gun  hi  his  hand. 

Kate  clasped  her  hands. 

*'  Don't  tell  on  them,  sir!"  she  said.  "  I'm  afraid  my 
father's  here — but  I'm  not  sure." 

Selby  Layton  took  a  step  towards  her  and  got  hold  cf  her 
hand. 

'  'Don't  be  frightened,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not  going  to  tell. 
What  a  pretty  girl  you  are!  You  ought  not  to  be  here,  at 
alone  at  this  time  of  night.  Come,  give  me  a  kiss  and  I'll 
see  you  home!" 

He  drew  her  towaru0  him,  and  Dick  Reeve  raised  his  gua 
to  his  shoulder;  but  he  lowered  it,  as  Kate,  with  a  !e>w  cry, 
hrcke  from  Selby  Layton  and  was  lost  in  the  wood. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN"  Kate  broke  away  from  Selby  Layton  she  set  of?  run- 
'-ing;  but  presently,  when  she  found  that  he  had  not  pursued 
her,  she  slackened  her  pace  and  went  on  snore  slowly.  Her 
teart  was  beating  fast,  but  with,  indignation  rather  tiiaa  fear. 


134  KJ7E,  THE  TYBAUT. 

and  the  hot  blood  came  atid  went  in  her  pale  face,  and  her 
eyes  flashed. 

No  one  had  ever  dared  to  speak  to  her  as  this  gentleman 
had  done,  and  all  the  girl's  maiden  pride  was  outraged  and  in 
arms. 

She  had  nearly  gained  the  edge  of  the  wood  when  she  heard 
footsteps.  Her  hand  flew  to  her  heart,  and  she  stepped  be- 
hind a  tree  to  conceal  herself;  but  concealment  was  difficult 
from  the  man  who  was  now  approaching  tier;  for  it  was  Jack 
Gordon,  and  he  had  seen  her  and  tracked  her  easily. 

He  had  his  gun  over  his  arm,  and  Bob  was  following  at  his 
heels.  The  head  keeper  had  been  discharged,  and  during  the 
interregnum,  between  his  going  and  the  new  man's  coming, 
Jack  sometimes  took  a  stroll  through  the  woods,  doing  ama- 
teur keeper's  work.  He  raised  his  hat  and  said  "  Good- 
evening,  Miss  Transom,"  even  before  he  came  up  to  the 
tree. 

Kate  stepped  out  and  faltered  a  response,  and  Jack  saw 
that  she  was  trembling  and  that  the  hand  against  her  bosom 
was  clenched  tightly  as  she  stood  with  downcast  eyes  before 
him. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?"  he  asked  in  a  kindly  way. 

"  N-o,"  she  faltered.  "  I  came  into  the  woods  because— 
I  was  afraid  my  father —  Have  you  seen  him?" 

Jack  understood. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  saw  him  going  down  the 
street  just  n»w." 

He  did  not  say  "  going  into  the  inn." 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  pushed  the  thick  hair  from 
her  forehead  with  a  weary  little  gesture. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  always  afraid 
he  will  break  his  promise,  that  he  will  forget  }  our  kindness 
and — get  into  trouble." 

"  I  think  he'll  keep  his  promise,"  said  Jack.  "  There  has 
not  been  so  much  poaching  lately,  I  think;  they  know  I'm 
keeping  a  sharp  lookout.  You  didn't  sse  any  one  in  the 
wo-yds?" 

Her  face  flushed,  and  she  turned  her  head  aside  as  she 
shuok  it.  With  a-  murmured  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Gordon," 
she  was  leaving  him,  when  an  owl  flew  screeching  from  a  tree, 
and,  with  a  cry,  she  started  back.  Jack  saw  that  she  was 
nervous  and  overstrained,  and  he  said: 

"  I'm  guing  back,  and  will  pro  wiih  you  if  you'll  allow 
me." 

She  shot  a  grateful  glance  at  him  from  her  superb  eyes, 


T33  TYRASTT,  135 

they  walked  together  through  the  remainder  of  the  wood, 
tm?-.  by  one  of  the  gates  on  to  the  high  road.  Jack  said  very 

cie — just  farmer-talk  about  the  crops  and  the  coming 
harvest — and  she  only  replied  in  monosyllables;  but  she  was 
drinking  in  every  word  he  said,  and  his  deep  voice  was  like 
music  in  her  ears.  As  they  passed  through  the  gate,  a  man 
and  woman  came  along  the  path;  they  were  Marie — Esther's 
maid — and  Giles,  who  were  "  keeping  company  "  and  had 
been  out  for  a  lover's  stroll. 

Gilos  touched  his  cap  and  gave  Jack  "  Good-evening,  sir/* 
and  Jack  said,  "  Good-evening,  Giles.  Fine  night!"  in  his 
frank  and  genial  way;  but  Kate  coloured  deeply  and  shrank 
back;  and  with  a  hurried  "  Thank  you,  sir.  I  can  go  alone 
now.  Good-night!"  walked  away  from  him  quickly. 

'*  Who  was  that  with  Mr.  Gordon?"  asked  Marie,  as  she 
and  Giles  passed  them.  "  Wasn't  it  Elate  Transom?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Giles.     "  Old  Transom's  daughter." 

"  Oh,"  said  Marie,  "  I  didn't  know  they  were  keeping 
eompanv." 

"  Are  they?"  said  Giles. 

M'irie  laughed. 

"  Why,  aren't  they  out  walking  together,  and  they've  just 
come  from  the  woods,  too!  If  they  ain't  keeping  company 
they  ought  to  be.  Some  persons  think  she's  rather  good- 
looking,"  she  added,  with  an  air  of  critical  fairness;  "  but  I 
don't  admire  red  hair  myself." 

"  No  more  do  I,"  said  Giles:  Marie's  hair  was  dark. 

Kate  almost  ran  the  rest  of  the  way,  entered  the  cottage, 
and  sank  into  a  chair.  The  colour  was  still  going  and  com- 
ing in  her  face,  and  there  was  a  dreamy  look  in  her  large 
eyes.  Mr.  Gordon  had  evidently  not  minded  in  the  least 
being  seen  alone  with  her  at  that  time  of  night,  had  thought 
nothing  of  it;  but  Kate  knew  what  would  be  thought  and 
eaid  by  those  who  had  seen  them,  and  her  heart  beat  with 
mingled  apprehension  and  pleasure.  Ever  since  the  day  she 
^  1  first  seen  Mr.  Gordon,  a  change  had  been  coming  over 
eren  tenor  of  her  life.  Like  Esther,  the  mistress  of  the 
i'owers,  Kate  Transom,  the  labourer's  daughter,  could  think 
of  little  else  but  him,  and  Fate  had  so  willed  it  that  almost 
every  time  she  met  him,  accident  had  forced  him  to  play  the 
part  of  protector  and  friend.  He  had  spared  her  father,  yield- 
ing to  her  entreaties;  he  had  rescued  her  when  she  had  fallen 
from  the  bank  hi  the  spinney;  to-night  he  had  walked  ^th 
her  because  she  was  alone  and  nervous,  and  always  he  had 
fcer  with  a  gentleness  and  courtesy  as  novel  as  they 


1?6  ifcYB,   THE  TYHANT. 

were  fascinating.  She  was  only  a  labourer's  daughter,  bst 
from  the  very  first  she  had  noticed  the  difference  between  him 
and  the  other  mea  om  the  estate,  and,  while  she  appreciated 
it,  it  troubled  her  and  made  her  unhappy.  He  was  only  the 
foreman  of  the  farm,  and  yet  he  was  so  high  above  her;  ho 
looked  and  spoke  like  one  of  the  gentry,  and  even  the  proud 
Miss  Vancourt  was  not  too  proud  to  walk  and  talk  with  him. 

Wii;h  her  head  resting  on  her  hand  she  dwelt  upon  every 
look  of  his,  every  word  he  had  spoken  to  her:  and  they  all 
amounted  to  so  little!  Just  commonplace  words  of  kindness 
and  courtesy,  such  as  a  gentleman  would  speak  to  a  poor  and 
humble  girl  like  herself.  He  had  never  even  looked  at  her 
admiringly,  as  most  of  the  young  men  did.  Supposing  he 
had  taken  hold  of  her  and  spoken  to  her  as  the  gentleman  in 
the  wood  had  done  that  night,  would  she  have  been  angry, 
indignant,  and  have  broken  away  from  him? 

As  she  asked  herself  the  question,  the  passion  welled  up  in 
her  heart,  and  she  hid  her  crimson  face  with  her  arm;  for  she 
knew  that  she  would  not  have  been  able  to  fly,  that  she  would 
have  sunk  into  his  arms,  would  have  been  helpless  to  conceai 
ker  love,  and  only  too  glad  to  avow  it. 

The  door  opened  and  her  father  lurched  in.  He  had  been 
irinking,  but  was  not  drunk,  and  he  took  a  bottle  of  spirits 
from  his  pocket  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  A  man  in  his 
position  only  purchases  whiskey  for  home  consumption  when 
he  is  flush  of  money;  and  Kate,  who  knew  that  he  had  done 
ao  work  for  some  time  past,  guessed  where  the  money  came 
from.  Thougk  he  himself  might  not  be  poaching,  he  was 
sharing  in  the  spoil  got  by  others.  She  knew  that  Dick  Eeeve 
would  give  her  father  money  because  she  was  his  daughter. 

"  Hallo,  Kate,  my  girl,  where  have  you  been?"  he  asked. 
"  Give  me  a  drop  »f  water;  I'll  take  it  hot." 

Kate  got  the  water  in  silence,  for  she  knew  it  was  useless 
to  remonstrate. 

"  Won't  you  kave  some  supper,  father?"  she  asked,  pres- 
ently, and  she  put  some  bread  and  cheese  upon  the  table. 

He  looked  at  it  and  shook  his  head  indifferently. 

"  Don't  famcy  bread  and  cheese,"  he  said.  "It's  poor 
kind  of  tackle  for  a  man  as  has  been  used  to  a  joint  of  meat 
three  times  a  day.  Seems  to  me  England's  a  played  out 
country,  and  a  man's  as  likely  to  starve  as  not  here.  Austra- 
lia's the  place;  there's  plenty  for  everybody  there." 

"  Why  did  you  come  back  then,  father?"  she  asked. 
"  Why  didn't  you  stay  there  and  send  for  me?  I  might  have 
been  a  help  to  you." 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  137 

transom  shot  a  half  suspicious  glance  at  her,  then  langhed 
rather  uneasily. 

"  I  came  back  because — well,  because  perhaps  I  was  tired 
of  it,"  he  said.  "  And  you  couldn't  have  helped  me  ia  the — 
tha  job  I  was  doing  there;  but,  all  the  same,  I  wish  I  was 
back  there."  He  mixed  himself  another  glass  and  sat  smok- 
ing moodily. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  some  work  here,  father?"  Kate  asked. 
"  I  know  that — that  Mr.  Gordon  wants  some  hands,  and  if 
you  were  to  speak  to  him  he  might  employ  you."  She  had, 
turned  away  to  the  dresser  as  she  spoke,  and  her  face  flushed 
as  she  pronounced  Jack's  name. 

Transom  took  the  short  black  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
looked  at  her  sideways  and  sharply. 

"  Oh,  would  he?"  he  said.  "  Yes,  perhaps  he  would  give 
me  a  job;  but  a  pretty  hard  job  it  would  be;  hoeing  or  ditch- 
ing; twelve  hours  a  day,  and  two  shillings  at  the  end  of  it. 
No,  my  gal,  T  fancy  I  know  a  better  trick  than  that."  He 
chuckled  and  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  tipsy  cunning. 
"  Perhaps  I  know  a  thing  or  two  as  I  can  make  money  on; 
but  I'm  biding  my  time.  Biding  my  time,  that's  what  I 
am." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  father?"  she  asked:  for  a  certain 
significance  in  his  tone  and  manner  arrested  her  attention. 

Transom  laughed  to  himself. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Kate,  my  gal,"  he  said,  with  a  hic- 
cough. "  I  know  what  I  know;  but  I  can  keep  my  mouth 
shut,  and  I  mean  to  keep  it  shut  till  the  proper  time  for 
opening  it;  then  I'll  open  it  wide  enough  for  certain," 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  know  something  about — Mr.  Gor- 
don?" she  asked,  growing  pale. 

Transom  looked  up  at  her  sharply  and  suspiciously. 

"  Who  said  anything  about  Mr.  Gordon,"  he  said,  thickly. 
"  I  didn't  mention  no  names;  I've  never  opened  my  lips  to  a 
living  soul,  and  i  don't  moan  to.  1  know  better.  And  what's 
more,  my  gal,  don't  you  try  to  drive  me  into  a  corner.  You 
think  yourself  mighty  clever,  I  daresay;  but  you  won't  get 
anv thing  out  of  me  for  ail  your  artfulness." 

"  Father!"  cried  Kate,  reproachfully,  "  I  only  asked  the 
question — you  had  been  speaking  of  Mr.  Gordon — " 

Transom  rose  unsteadily  and  glared  at  her  angrily. 

a  lie,"  he  said.     "  I  never  said  anything  about*  him; 
T  --over  mentioned  his  name;  I  never  said  I  knew  him,  ani 
't  you  try  ami  fiz  it  on  me!    You  take  my  advice 


138  LOVE;   THE  TYRANT. 

leave  me  alone:  I'm  not  a  badger  to  be  drawn  by  my  ewn 

i  t « •  *  * 

gal!' 

He  sank  into  his  chair,  clutching  at  his  glass,  and  con- 
tinued to  mutter  tp  himself  moodily,  until  he  fell  into  the 
heavy  doze  of  intoxication;  and  Kate  went  up  to  her  room 
full  of  strange  forebodings. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  moment  after  Kate  had  left  him,  Selby  Lay  ton  knew 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who 
cam  never  resist  a  temptation  to  force  their  attentions  upon 
any  pretty  girl,  inferior  to  themselves  in  position,  whom  they 
may  meet;  but  though  he  was  a  blackguard  at  heart,  he  was 
too  cunning  not  to  know  that  he  had  acted  unwisely.  He  was 
playing  a  difficult  game — and  how  dangerous  a  one  only  he 
knew — and  a  flirtation  with  the  daughter  of  one  of  Esther's 
labourers  would  certainly  not  help  him  to  win  Esther  herself 
and  the  Vancourt  property.  The  moonlight  had  shown  him 
that  the  girl  was  extremely  handsome,  and  if  his  hands  had 
not  been  quite  so  full,  he  would  have  regarded  her  as  legiti- 
mate prey;  but  he  felt  that  he  had  made  a  great  mistake  in 
addre.? 'n<*  her,  and  he  trusted  devoutly  that  she  would  not 
recognise  him  agaim. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  annoyed  he  was  with 
himself;  for  he  felt  that  everything  vras  going  swimmingly 
with  him.  Esther  had  evidently  been  glad  to  see  him;j3he 
had  extended  a  very  friendly  welcome,  was  grateful  for  what 
she  supposed  he  had  done  for  her,  and  haa  sat  beside  the 
piano  and  listened  to  him  with  rapt  attention  as  he  sang  song 
after  song  with  that  wonderful  voice  of  his,  and  he  felt  that 
he  was  well  on  the  way  to  the  winning-post. 

A  French  philosopher  has  said  that  any  man  can  gain  the 
love  of  any  woman  if  he  be  persistent  enough  and  unflagging 
in  his  devotion,  if  her  heart  be  not  already  engaged;  and 
Selby  Layton  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Esther  was  not 
fancy  free.  Had  there  been  any  one  in  the  field  before  him, 
he,  Selby  Layton,  must  have  known  it.  No;  the  field  was 
open  to  him;  and  he  knew  that  he  had  many  points  in  his 
favour.  He  was  good-looking,  had  what  women  call  a  charm- 
ing manner,  and,  more  than  all  else,  possessed  a  wonderful 
voice  which  made  it  difficult  for  a  woman  to  withstand  him. 

Often  at  crowded  receptions  he  had  drawn  a  crowd  of  wor- 
shipping women  from  the  poldier,  the  poet,  the  statesman  of 
the  hoar-— had  drawn  them  to  the  piano  as  by  a  magnet  A 


I0VB,  THE  TYRAJTE,  Io9 

beautiful  voice  is  always  spoken  of  as  a  gift  from  Heaven ; 
but  the  devil  has  a  knack  of  wresting  it  to  his  own  uses. 

As  he  strolled  back  to  the  house,  Selby  Layton  looked  up 
at  the  vast  pile  of  buildings  towering  in  stately  fashion  above 
the  lawn,  aiid  his  heart  beat  with  the  desire  of  possession, 
and  his  eyes  glistened  as  he  thought  how  delightful  it  would 
be  to  be  master  of  Vancourt  Towers — the  principal  place  in 
the  county — and  of  all  the  advantages  accruing  to  that  im- 
portant position;  and  he  resolved  to  continue  the  game,  dan- 
gerous though  it  was,  and  notwithstanding  that  since  the  visit 
of  Denzil  he  had  once  or  twice  quailed  before  the  risks  which 
he  must  incur  in  his  enterprise. 

He  did  not  see  Esther  again  that  night,  but  the  nexf  morn- 
ing, after  breakfast,  he  asked  her  if  she  would  give  him  a  few 
minutes  in  the  library,  and  Esther  at  once  complied,  though 
with  no  great  eagerness;  for  she  was  feeling  rather  absent- 
minded  that  morning. 

For  some  days  she  had  not  been  near  the  home  farm  nor 
seen  Mr.  Gordon.  As  she  stood  by  the  open  window  of  the 
library  she  could  just  hear  the  rattle  and  click  of  the  hay- 
making machine  and  could  smell  the  scent  of  the  new  mown 
b.ay  from  the  meadows  in  the  distance.  She  had  promised  to 

fo  to  the  hay-inaking  supper,  and  had  got  out  the  cotton 
ress  as  being  suitable  to  the  occasion;  but  all  the  same,  she 
was  not  obliged  to  go  unless  she  liked.  But  she  felt  thai  she 
did  like,  that  it  was  just  what  she  wanted  to  do.  She  wanted 
<o  see  the  people,  her  people;  but  more  than  all  else  she 
knew,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  that  she  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Gor- 
don, to  hear  that  resolute,  masterful  voice  of  his  which  had 
so  often  called  her  pride  to  arms. 

She  almost  started,  so  engrossed  with  these  thoughts  was 
she,  when  Selby  Layton's  soft  voice  said: 

"  /  am  afraid  I  shall  bore  you  terribly,  Miss  Vanconrt;  and 
yet  L  must  do  so  if  I  give  you  a  full  report  of  my  mission." 

Esther  turned  her  head  and  saw  that  he  had  a  lot  of  papers 
in  his  hand,  and  with  a  woman's  shrinking  from  business  de- 
tails, she  laughed  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

•*  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  know  all  the  particulars,"  she  said. 

He  was  as  bad  as  Mr.  Gordon,  who  insisted  on  her  going 
over  his  bothering  accounts. 

This  suited  Mr.  Selby  Layton  very  well;  but  he  remon- 
strated sweetly. 

<;  But  really  you  ought  to  know,"  he  said.  "  You  sent  me 
a  large  sum  of  money,  and  I  have  a  proposal  for  the  disposal 
of  a  •till  larger  sum — that  is,  if  you  approve.  I  will  wad  you 


140  LOTS,  THE 

the  names  of  the  persons  who  are  already  in  receipt  of 
bounty,"  he  added;  and  he  unfolded  a  formidable  list. 

Esther  made  a  little  impatient  gesture. 

"  Oh,  please  spare  me!"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  know 
all  their  names;  I  shouldn't  know  any  of  them.  Until  this 
great  fortune  came  to  me,  I  did  not  know  any  of  the  family, 
and  I  am  almost  as  ignorant  now.  As  long  as  the  proper 
persons  get  the  money,  I  am  content." 

"  You  trust  me  entirely!"  he  said,  his  voice  with  the  flute 
stop  on,  his  eyes  upturned  to  hers  with  an  intense  devotion. 

Entirely,"  she  said,  lightly.  "  I  have  every  confidence 
in  your  discretion  and  judgment.  I  think  it  is  very  kind  of 
you  to  take  so  much  trouble;  but  I  shall  feel  that  your  kind- 
ness is  very  much  lessened  if  I  have  to  go  into  every  particu- 
lar. You  said  that  it  was  a  large  sum  I  had  sent  you.'" 
Anyway,  Selby  Layton  had  found  it  a  very  useful  sum  when 
he  had  paid  it  into  his  own  bankers.  "  But  I  did  not  think; 
it  a  large  sum;  I  thought  you  would  ask  for  ever  so  much 
more." 

His  heart  grew  warm,  and  a  comfortable  feeling  spread  all 
over  him. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  for  some  more,"  he  said;  "  in  fact,  I 
was  going  to  ask  you  for  a  thousand  pounds." 

There  was  a  falter  in  his  voice,  genuine  enough;  for  he  ex 
pected  Esther  to  be  startled.     But  she  had  been  told  so  often 
by  old  Mr.  Floss,  and  by  Selby  Layton  himself,  that  her  in- 
come was  an  enormous  one,  that  a  thousand  pounds  seemed 
very  little  to  her. 

"  Is  that  all?"  she  said. 

Selby  Layton  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  not  ask- 
ing for  two  or  three  thousand. 

"  All  at  present,"  he  said. 

She  went  to  the  bureau,  and  taking  out  her  cheque-book, 
wrote  a  cheque. 

"  Of  course,  you  will  take  care  that  they  shall  never  know 
from  whence  it  comes?"  she  said,  as  she  gave  it  to  him. 

"  I'll  be  very  careful,"  said  Selby  Layton,  placing  the 
cheque  in  his  pocket-book.  "  Your  trust  in  me  is  very  great, 
Miss  Vancourt,  and  I  am  very  sensible  of  it" 

Esther  laughed. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  trust  you?"  she  said;  "  and  I  am  very 
grateful  for  all  the  trouble  you  have  taken  and  are  going  to 
take,  and  still  more  grateful  that  you  have  not  insisted  upon 
giving  me  the  details.  Old  Mr.  Floss — dear  old  man! — would 
Have  insisted  neon  going  into  every  particular,  and  wouldn't 


&9VB,  *H3  TYBAHft  141 

hare  been  satisfied  until  I  said  that  I  understood  every  minute 
detail.  Yon  don't  know  the  trials  of  an  ignorant  young 
woman  who  has  suddenly  come  into  a  large  fortune,  and  baa 
no  idea  how  to  manage  it." 

Selby  Layton's  breath  came  fast  as  he  bent  over  her. 

"  I  think  I  can  understand/'  he  said.  "  You  need  some 
one  to  whom  you  could  come  in  any  and  every  difficulty — a 
man  with  a  knowledge  of  the  world — a  man  upon  whom  you 
could  rely;  who  would  share  with  you  the  responsibilities  of 
this  vast  estate.  That  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  mast  need 
be  a  proud  and  happy  man." 

His  voice  quavered  and  his  eyelids  drooped;  but  Esther 
failed  to  see  the  significance  of  the  beautifully  delivered 
speech. 

'•'  Oh,  I  daresay  I  shall  get  on  very  well,"  she  said,  inno- 
cently— so  innocently  and  unsuspectingly  that  Selby  Layton 
coloured,  and  a  nasty  twist  of  his  lip  showed  itself  as  he 
turned  away. 

Miss  Worcester  came  to  the  open  window  at  that  moment. 

"  You  will  not  forget,  Esther,  dear,  that  we  are  dining  at 
the  Bruces'  to-night?"  she  said. 

Esther  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  her  face  fell.  If  she 
dined  at  the  Bruces',  she  certainly  could  not  be  present  at  the 
hay-makers'  supper.  Well,  it  would  be  a  very  good  excuse. 

**  All  right,  aunt,"  she  said.  "  But  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  it,  and  I  must  tell  Marie.  She  likes  to  know,  so  that 
she  may  worry  about  my  dress.  I  always  wondered  why  peo- 
ple kept  ladies'  maids;  but  now  I  know.  It  is  to  save  i hem- 
selves  the  trouble  of  deciding  what  they  shall  put  on.  Marie 
always  goes  through  the  form  of  asking  me  what  I  will  wear; 
but  I  notice  that  I  always  wear  just  what  she  chooses." 

It  was  too  hot  for  even  a  drive,  and  Esther  fluctuated  be- 
tween her  own  cool  and  shady  room  and  the  still  cooler  and 
shadier  shrubbery  and  park.  She  could  hear  the  rattle  of  the 
hay-making  machines  all  day,  and  they  seemed  to  sound  an 
invitation  in  her  ears.  The  people  and  Mr.  Gordon  would  no 
doubt  be  disappointed  by  her  absence:  no,  Mr.  Gordon  would 
ot  be  disappointed;  he  would  not  care.  Perhaps  it  was  her 
unty  to  be  present.  She  felt  undecided,  and  the  feeling  of 
indecision,  combined  with  the  heat,  gave  her  a  woman's  head- 
ache. She  was  silent  and  abstracted  all  through  lunch  and 
the  afternoon  tea,  and  paid  little  attention  to  Selby  Layton's 
soft  murmurmgs;  and  when  she  went  up  to  dress,  her  head 
was  so  bad  that  Marie  was  quite  concerned,  and  was  not  at 
all  asuTxiaert  whan  Esther  said: 


142  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  go,  Marie.  Please  go  and  tell  Miss 
Worcester  and  Mr.  Layton  that  they  must  go  without  me.  I 
shall  lie  down." 

Of  course  Miss  Worcester  came  up  full  of  anxiety  and 
offered  her  eau-de-Cologne  and  sal  volatile;  but  Esther  would 
have  none  of  them. 

"  We  will  all  stay  at  home,*'  said  Miss  Worcester. 

But  Esther  would  not  consent  to  this. 

"  Why  should  I  deprive  you  and  Mr.  Layton  of  a  pleasant 
evening!"  she  said,  speaking  with  her  head  turned  away,  and 
with  her  eyes  closed.  "  Please  go,  both  of  you,  and  don't 
bother!" 

When  Esther  spoke  hi  this  tone,  her  aunt  knew  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  obey;  and  so,  with  more  anxious  mur- 
murings,  she  departed. 

Esther  tried  to  sleep  but  she  could  not,  though  the  scent  of 
the  hay  and  the  distant  rattle  of  the  machines  came  soothingly 
through  the  window;  but  scarcely  soothingly,  for  they  still 
reminded  her  of  Mr.  Gordon's  invitation.  After  a  time  her 
headache  fled,  after  the  fashion  of  such  headaches;  she  rose 
and  bathed  her  face,  and  opening  the  wardrobe  drawer  looked 
wistfully  at  the  cotton  dress  and  sun-bonnet  which  she  had 
intended  to  wear.  Why  should  she  not  go? 

She  was  ashamed  to  summon  Marie  and  she  slipped  out  of 
her  morning-dress  and  put  on  the  cotton  frock  and  sun-bon- 
net quickly.  When  she  had  donned  them  she  looked  at  her- 
self in  the  glass,  and  with  a  blush  of  surprise  discovered 
*.hey  were  exceedingly  becoming;  the  sun-bonnet  especially, 
for  it  made  a  deliciously  effective  frame  for  the  clear  oval  face 
and  the  soft  dark  hair. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  were  a  labourer's  daughter,  I  should  be  ever 
so  much  happier,"  she  thought.  "  But  why  can't  I  be  happy 
as  1  am?  I  am  the  mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers;  I  have 
more  money  than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  and  all  the  beau- 
iif  ul  dresses  and  jewels  I  used  to  covet  a  few  months  ago,  and 
yet — and  yet — "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  aud  tiled  to 
laugh  away  the  feeling  of  discontent  and  wistf ulness  which 
had  of  late  come  upon  her. 

She  was  almost  ashamed  to  go  through  the  house  in  her 
rustic  get-up;  but  she  put  a  bold  front  on  it  and  marched 
down  the  stairs  with  her  chin  well  up.  As  it  happened,  there 
was  no  one  in  the  hall  to  see  her — nearly  all  the  servants  had 
gone  to  the  hav-fields,  and  she  left  the  house  and  went  across 
the  park  towards  the  home  meadows. 

The  hay-making  was  in  fall  swing.    Jack  had  had  a  busy 


I0VE,  THE  TYRANT.  143 

day,  and  nntier  his  cool,  out  energetic  swav,  the  hands  had 
worked  as  they  had  never  worked  before.  The  new  machines 
had  answered  admirably;  the  grass  had  been  cut  quickly — 
Trith  a  rapidity  which  amazed  the  old-fashioned  Vancourt 
folk — and,  the  heat  being  great,  the  hay  had  "  made  "  almost 
at  once  and  was  now  ready  to  carry.  Before  Esther  had  left 
the  house,  the  waggons,  or  wains,  as  they  were  locally  called, 
were  in  the  field,  and  the  men  were  beginning  to  load. 

The  scene  was  one  of  those  charming  ones  which  can  only 
be  seen  in  Old  England.  The  hay  formed  huge  billows  on 
the  smooth,  newly  cut  field,  and  men,  women,  and  children, 
were  spread  about  in  picturesque  groups.  In  a  corner  of  one 
^f  the  fields  sat  Mrs.  Martin,  with  Nettie  beside  her,  and  in 
frcnt  of  them  were  huge  cans  of  tea,  and  still  huger  mounds 
of  bread  and  butter  and  eake,  with  which  the  hay-makers  re- 
galed themselves. 

Jack  seemed  to  be  all  over  the  place  at  once;  now  he  was 
directing  the  tossing-machines,  at  another  moment  he  was 
pouring  out  beer  from  a  four-gallon  jar — it  is  wonderful  how 
much  beer  a  hay-maker  can  drink — and  now  he  was  pitching 
hay  into  the  first  of  the  wains. 

Every  now  and  then,  as  he  passed  Mrs.  Martin  and  Nettie, 
the  child  would  call  to  him  and  Jack  would  stop  and  throw 
himself  down  beside  her  and  take  the  piece  of  cake  or  bread 
and  butter  which  she  had  ready  and  waiting  for  him;  and 
once  or  twice  he  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  dropping  her 
upon  one  of  the  nay  cocks,  covered  her  with  hay. 

He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party  and  whenever  he 
strolled  near  a  group  of  workers,  that  group  worked  all  the 
harder. 

To  him  the  few  meadows  of  limited  acres  must  have  seemed 
very  small  compared  with  the  miles  of  pasture  with  which  he 
had  been  familiar  in  Australia;  but  Jack  was  one  of  those 
men  to  whom  the  work  of  the  moment  was  all  important  and 
lid  not  admit  of  comparison;  and  he  worked  as  hard  as  if  the 
hay  he  was  getting  in  for  Miss  Esther  Vancourt  were  actually 
his  own. 

Every  now  and  then,  when  his  duty  of  supervision  took 
him  to  the  crest  of  the  hill  he  glanced  towards  the  Towers. 
He  had  sent  her  an  invitation,  but  she  had  not  come.  She 
was  evidently  too  proud,  too  indifferent.  All  right!  It  did 
not  matter;  they  could  get  in  the  hay  without  Miss  Vancourt 
of  the  Towers. 

Amongst  the  workers  was  Kate  Transom.  She,  like 
Either,  hid  hesitated  abos*  coming;  bat  she  had  not  been 


144  LOVE,  THE  TYRJLNT. 

able  to  remain  away.  She  had  started  working  in  company 
of  two  or  three  other  girls,  but  she  had  gradually  drifted  away 
by  herself.  At  times  Jack  came  up  to  her  and  spoke  to  her. 
On  the  first  occasion  he  noticed  that  she  was  working  with  a 
heavy  hay  fork. 

"  That's  too  big  a  weapon  for  you,  Miss  Transom,"  he 
said.  "  Here,  I'll  find  you  a  lighter  one." 

He  strode  across  the  field,  found  a  smaller  fork  and  brought 
it  to  her. 

"  Don't  you  work  too  hard  now,"  he  said.  "  You're  not 
Strong,  you  know." 

"  I  am  very  strong,"  she  said.     "  See!" 

She  lifted  up  a  forkload  of  hay  above  her  head;  but  she 
had  taken  more  than  she  could  hold  and  she  staggered  and 
seemed  about  to  fall.  Jack  put  his  arm  round  her  quickly, 
as  he  would  have  put  his  arm  round  the  oldest  and  plainest 
woman  in  the  field,  and  prevented  her  from  falling. 

"You  see!"  he  said.  "Don't  take  up  too  much.  I 
should  never  forgivo  myself  if  you  hurt  yourself." 

The  red  flooded  her  face,  but  it  was  hidden  by  her  sun- 
bonnet  as  she  turned  away. 

Now,  it  chanced  that  this  little  episode  was  seen  by  Esther 
as  she  entered  the  field.  She  could  not  hear  Jack  Cordon's 
quite  composed  and  commonplace  tone  and  words,  but  she 
saw  him  put  his  arm  round  the  girl,  and  she  stopped  dead 
short  with  a  strange  feeling  of  doubt  and  disgust.  Had  she 
stayed  away  from  the  Bruces'  dinner,  donned  rustic  attire 
end  come  down  to  the  hay-making  solely  to  witness  Mr.  Gor- 
don caressing  a  rustic? 

After  a  moment  she  went  forward,  softly  biting  her  lip, 
and  Jack  from  the  farther  end  of  the  field,  noticing,  with  his 
quick  eye,  a  new-comer,  strode  up  to  her.  He  was  so  ab- 
sorbed in  his  work,  that  he  saw  only  another  country  girl  in  a 
cotton  frock  and  sun-bonnet;  she,  glancing  up  at  him  almost 
shyly,  saw  a  stalwart  man  without  coat  or  waistcoat,  his  shirt 
open  at  the  neck,  a  broad  leather  belt  round  his  waist.  He 
looked  every  inch  a  man,  with  his  sun-burnt  face  and  quick, 
flashing  eyes;  and  the  woman's  adoration  for  strength  and 
grace  rose  reluctantly  strongly  within  her;  reluctantly,  be- 
cause of  what  she  had  just  seen. 

"  Want  something  to  do?"  he  asked.  "  Rake  this  hay 
into  a  heap  for  the  wain  that's  coming  here.  Here's  a  rake;" 
and  he  caught  up  one  and  held  it  out  to  her;  then  he  saw 
who  it  was,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  his  face.  But  it  was  onJj 
£or  a  moment;  then  he  said  coolly  enough: 


LOVE,  THE  TYBANT.  145 

**  Oh,  yon  have  come,  Mis?  Vancourt!  Do  yon  only  wan* 
to  look  on,  or  do  you  want  to  work  like  the  rest?" 

"  I  want  to  work  —  like  the  rest,"  said  Esther. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  way.  "  Here's 
the  rake;  rake  that  line  into  a  heap,  and  I'll  lift  it  into  the 


Esther  made  a  weak  and  feeble  attempt  to  rake  the  hay 
into  a  mound,  and  he  watched  her  for  a  moment  or  two  iu 
Silence,  just  as  he  had  watched  her  attempt  to  notch  the  trees. 

"  That's  not  the  way,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Hold  your  rake 
in  this  fashion,  and  get  hold  of  the  hay  like  this." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  affected  indifference;  but 
she  tried  to  obey  his  injunctions.  The  wain  came  up,  and 
Jack,  with  his  huge  fork,  gathered  up  the  hay  and  hoisted  it 
into  the  cart,  and  he  took  no  more  notice  of  her  than  if  she 
had  been  one  of  the  peasant  girls  working  in  the  field. 

It  nettled  her,  and  presently  she  said: 

"  Give  me  your  fork,  Mr.  Gordon,  I  want  to  hoist  some 
hay  up." 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"  You  can't;  you'll  make  a  mess  of  it." 

"  No,  I  sha'n't,"  she  said;  and  she  stuck  her  fork  in  the 
heap  of  hay  and  tried  to  raise  it.  Though  it  looked  so  light, 
it  was  so  heavy  that  it  seemed  to  bear  her  back  with  it;  but 
she  still  persisted,  and  she  would  have  fallen  ignominiously  if 
Jack  had  not  stretched  out  his  strong  arm  and  supported  herj 
just  as  he  had  supported  Kate! 

"  Now,  hoist!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  put  his  hand  to  the  handle  of  the  fork  as  he  spoke,  and 
np  the  hay  went.  But  the  other  hand  had  gone  round  her 
waist  and  had  held  her  in  a  grip  of  iron. 

She  felt  his  arm  round  her  —  a  band  of  steel,  of  living  mus- 
cle, it  seemed  —  and  the  blood  rushed  to  her  face,  and  her 
breath  came  so  fast  as  almost  to  suffocate  her. 

"  You  took  too  much,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  That's  the 
'vav  with  women;  they  will  never  be  satisfied." 

He  left  her  at  once,  and  she  saw  him  striding  across  the 
Seld  towards  another  wain.  A  foolish  feeling  of  indignation 
and  resentment  took  possession  of  her  at  his  desertion.  Evi- 
dently this  Mr.  Gordon  considered  her  of  no  more  importance 
than  any  one  else  on  the  field.  And  she  was  Miss  Vancourt 
of  the  Towers!  Surely,  he  ought  to  have  staged  beside  her. 
She  had  given  up  a  dinner-party  to  be  present  at  this  hay- 
of  his,  and  he  treated  her  is  if  she  wu«  a  nobody. 


146  LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT. 

The  blood  mantled  in  her  face,  and  she  caught  her  breath; 
but  she  still  worked  on. 

Jack  did  not  come  to  her  again  for  another  half  hour.  She 
saw  him  striding  hither  and  thither,  the  tallest  man  amongst 
them  all,  his  shoulders  thrown  back,  his  head  erect.  Now 
and  again  she  heard  his  voice — the  voice  of  the  man  who  is 
accustomed  to  command — giving  directions,  and  she  noticed 
that  his  directions  were  promptly  and  cheerfully  obeyed  by 
every  one. 

But  still  he  did  not  come  near  her.  Was  she  of  no  account? 
She  was  the  mistress  of  all;  and  yet  here  she  was,  working  in 
the  field  like  a  common  peasant-girl;  she,  who  might  have 
been  queening  it  at  the  Bruces  this  very  moment! 

The  wains  were  filling;  everything  was  carried  save  one 
load.  She  saw  the  waggons  proceeding  slowly  to  the  farm, 
and  presently  Jack  came  up  to  her. 

"  We  are  all  loaded,  excepting  the  last,  which  we  reserve 
for  after  the  supper,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  come  to  the  barn, 
or  would  you  rather  go  home,  Miss  Vancourt?" 

Esther  would  have  liked  to  have  said  that  she  would  g« 
home,  but  she  could  not. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  barn,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  in  his  cavalier  fashion.  "  They've 
gotihe  supper  all  laid,  and  they're  only  waiting  for  you.  I 
said  I  thought  you'd  come." 

She  walked  beside  him  and  the  wain  which  was  already 
loaded,  and  they  entered  the  barn.  A  hearty  cheer  arose  as 
they  entered,  and  Esther  paused,  shy  and  uncertain;  but 
Jack,  quietly  but  masterfully,  put  her  at  the  head  of  the 
long  table.  Mrs.  Martin,  assisted  by  her  underlings,  brought 
in  huge  dishes  of  boiled  beef,  potatoes,  greens,  and  cake. 
Every  man  and  woman  stood  expectantly. 

"  Say  grace,"  said  Jack  to  Esther. 

Esther  crimsoned  and  turned  pale. 

"  I  can't,"  she  said.     "  You  say  it." 

Perfectly  self-possessed,  Jack  pronounced  the  old  world 
grace: 

"  For  what  we  are  going  to  receive  may  God  make  us  truly 
thankful!" 

There  was  an  instant  clatter  of  knife  and  fork  on  plate. 
Jack  seized  a  piece  of  boiled  beef  and  put  it  before  Esther. 

"  Eat,"  he  said;  "  they'll  be  offended  if  you  don't." 

She  had  had  a  very  poor  lunch,  and  she  tried  to  eat;  but 
her  heart  was  beating  fast.  This  man  had  taken  full  posse* 


LOVE,  THE  TYBA1T&  147 

son  01"  Her,  and  she  was  trying  to  fight  against  his  influence, 
bat  in  vain. 

But  the  rest  of  the  hay-makers,  free  of  any  such  sentiment, 
ate  heartily  enough.  When  they  had  finished,  they  sang 
songs,  and  cracked  jokes  as  old  as  the  flood.  They  were 
happy  with  a  happiness  beyond  words,  and  Esther  envied 
them.  Why  could  not  she  be  happy?  What  was  it  she 
wanted? 

Suddenly  Jack  rose  to  his  feet.  They  were  evidently  ex- 
pecting a  speech,  and  they  knocked  the  table  with  the  handles 
of  their  knives. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  "  I  give  you  the  health  of  our  mis- 
tress, Miss  Vancourt.  She  is  here  to-day,  to  share  our  labours 
and  to  join  in  our  prosperity.  Here's  her  health,  and  long 
life  to  her!" 

They  all  rose  to  their  feet  and  gave  a  hearty  cheer. 

Esther,  white  and  red  by  turns,  looked  round  her. 

''  What  shall  I  say?"  she  asked  of  Jack. 

"  Say  what  yon  like,"  he  replied. 

She  rose,  her  beautiful  face  flushed,  her  eyes  sparkling. 
For  the  first  time  she  realised  that  these  people  belonged  to 
her,  that  she  was  their  mistress,  almost  their  queen. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said.  I — thank  you 
verv  much!" 

Then  she  sat  down  abruptly;  but  it  was  enough.  Cheer 
after  cheer  arose,  and  the  sound  rang  in  her  ears  gratefully. 
She  turned  to  Jack;  but  he  had  remembered  the  last  load, 
and  had  risen. 

"  We  haven't  quite  finished,  friends,"  he  said;  "  there's 
still  another  load. 

He  went  out  of  the  bam  followed  by  the  rest.  A  wain 
stood  in  the  moonlit  field  beside  a  heap  of  hay.  He  caught 
up  a  fork  and  began  the  loading;  his  example  was  followed 
by  others,  and  the  waggon  was  soon  filled. 

"  Now,  who's  to  go  home  on  her?"  cried  an  old  man. 

"  The  fairest  in  the  field!"  came  the  expected  shout  from 
the  crowd. 

Jack  turned  to  Esther. 

"  Get  up,"  he  said  in  his  masterful  way. 

She  hesitated,  but  he  put  his  arm  round  her  and  hoisted 
her  up. 

This  was  bad  enough,  but  worse  was  to  follow.  The  cart 
had  been  badly  packed,  and  Esther,  as  she  sat  on  the  top  of 
the  load,  felt  it  sway  uncertainly  beneath  her.  She  said  noth- 
ing, and  aat  tight,  bat  as  it  iieared  he  rick  towards  which  it 


148  VOTE.  THE  TTRAOT. 

was  going,  she  relt  the  hay  move  dangerously,  as  if  it  arete 
going  to  fall.  As  it  happened,  there  was  no  one  beside  her 
but  Jack  Gordon;  the  rest  had  gone  off  for  more  ale.  She 
looked  down  at  him  uncertainly, 

"  Mr.  Gordon — "  she  said. 

Then  the  hay  beneath  her  began  to  slide,  and  she  felt  her- 
self slipping. 

"  Mr.  Gordon!  I  am  falling!"  she  exclaimed;  and  he 
stretched  out  his  arms  and  caught  her  as  she  slid  down  the 
slippery  side. 

She  was  so  helpless  that  she  fell  like  a  bundle  of  straw  into 
his  arms,  and  they  closed  round  her  tightly,  firmly.  They 
were  face  to  face,  lip  to  lip,  so  to  speak.  For  an  instant  they 
etpod  thus,  then  suddenly,  with  the  blood  flaming  in  his  facs, 
his  lips  met  hers,  and  he  kissed  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HE  had  kissed  her.  Had  he  suddenly  gone  mad?  For  a 
moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  bereft  of  reason; 
and  in  that  moment  he  stood  and  looked  at  her  as  a  man 
might  look  who  expects  the  heavens  to  oppn  and  the  light- 
ning to  flash  out  and  strike  him.  He  felt  her  quiver  in  his 
arms,  then  they  fell  from  her  and  hung  at  his  sides,  as  if  hi) 
were  waiting  for  the  doom  he  deserved. 

As  his  lips  had  touched  Esther's  her  amazement  had  domi- 
nated every  other  emotion,  then,  following  on  the  instant  was 
a  strange  feeling  that  should  have  been  one  entirely  of  anger 
and  indignation  at  the  outrage,  but  was  not.  She  had  quivered 
at  the  shock,  but  the  thrill  had  not  been  altogether  a  shudder 
of  resentment  and  stricken  pride. 

The  blood  had  flown  to  her  face,  and  a  sense  of  helpless- 
ness almost  of  faintness  had  swept  down  upon  her  and  en- 
veloped her  like  a  cloud.  Wrath  and  indignation  would  come 
presently  and  swiftly,  but  in  that  one  electric  moment  the 
emotion  that  shot  through  her  was  compounded  of  neither. 
The  red  slowly  ebbed  away  from  her  face,  she  grew  white  to 
the  lips  he  had  assaulted,  the  mist  cleared  from  her  eyes  and 
they  shone  out  on  him  with  passionate  resentment,  and  she 
stood  and  gazed  at  him,  her  bosom  heaving  with  the  breath 
that  was  too  laboured,  came  too  painfully  to  permit  her  to 
speak. 

His  eyes  fell  before  the  anger  that  burnt  in  hers,  and  he, 
too,  could  not  speak,  though  every  fibre  in  his  body  clamoured 
mutely  for  bar  forgiveness.  Suddenly  as  if  the  incapacity  of 


LOVE,    TETE  TYRANT.  149 

speech  maddened  her  she  raised  her  hand;  and  he  waited 
patiently  for  the  blow;  but  her  hand  fell  to  her  side,  and 
without  a  word  she  turned  from  him  and  walked  away,  not 
quickly — he  might  have  ventured  to  follow  her  then — but 
slowly  with  the  air  of  an  outraged  queen;  and  yet  with  some- 
thing in  the  droop  of  her  head  that  was  sweetly  womanly, 
something  that  hurt  him  more  than  the  blow  would  have 
done. 

She  walked  slowly  until  she  had  left  the  field,  and  reached 
the  shelter  of  the  wood,  then  she  stopped  and  with  an  impa- 
tient action  pushed  the  bonnet  from  her  head  and  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  hands.  She  was  trembling  now,  trembling  so 
that,  half-unconsciously,  she  sank  to  the  ground  and  leant 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  for  support. 

It  was  hard  to  realise  it.  This  man,  this  stranger,  her  own 
servant,  had  dared  to  touch  her  lips  with  his,  had  treated  her 
as  if  she  were  no  higher,  no  more  account  than  one  of  the 
farm  girls!  Had  he  gone  mad — had  he  been  drinking  heavily: 
no,  she  could  find  no  such  excuse,  if  excuse  it  could  be.  He 
was  neither  mad  nor  intoxicated;  and  yet,  at  the  moment  he 
had  bent  forward  to  kiss  her,  something  like  madness,  intoxi- 
cation had  shone  in  his  dark  eyes.  The  anger  swelled  in  her 
bosom,  and  yet —  There  had  been  something  of  worship  and 
reverence  in  his  eyes,  the  kiss  had  been  gentle  and  tender, 
not  rough  or  insolent,  and,  the  moment  he  had  done  the 
deed,  she  had  seen  his  face  grow  white  with  remorse  and  self- 
reproach  and  the  mute  prayer  for  forgiveness.  It  was  the 
first  time  in  her  life  that  a  man's  lips — other  than  her 
father's — had  touched  hers,  for  Esther  had  had  no  flirtations, 
no  "  past  "  to  make  her  familiar  with  a  caress.  The  thing 
had  fallen  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  suddenly,  without  warn- 
ing. He  had  always  been  kind  and  gentle  with  her,  but  he 
had  never  by  word  or  look  conveyed  the  presence  of  any 
warmer  feeling  than  respectful  friendship.  Indeed,  he  had 
often  offended  her  by  his  brusqueness  and  the  curt,  masterful 
manner  which  in  another  man  in  his  position  would  have 
been  considered  disrespectful. 

Why  had  he  done  it?  He  had  seemed  the  least  impulsive 
of  men,  so  singularly  self-possessed  and  cool;  and  yet  in  that 
instant,  as  his  arm  had  tightened  round  her,  his  self-posses- 
sion had  fled  and  he  appeared  to  be  swayed  by  an  uncon- 
trollable impulse.  As  she  was  trying  in  a  confused  and  be- 
,  ildered  way  to  solve  the  problem,  to  find  some  salve  for  her 
outraged  pride,  she  suddenly  remembered  Xettie's  prattle 
about  the  handkerchief:  was  it  oossibk-  Miat  he  had  arone  back 


150  LOVE,  THE  TYRAITT. 

for  the  hanokercnief  and  carried  it  in  his  bosom  because 
loved  her? 

The  colour  rose  slowly  to  her  face,  and  a  thrill  of  surprise 
and  subtle  joy  ran  through  her.  She  tried  to  put  the  thought 
from  her,  to  thrust  it  away  as  of  no  importance  to  the  ques- 
tion; but  she  could  not;  it  came  back  upon  her  with  a  per- 
sistence that  forced  all  other  thoughts  from  her  mind.  Did 
he  love  her?  Was  that  the  reason  why,  finding  her  in  his 
arms,  he  had  lost  all  self-control?  She  made  an  impatient, 
self-scornful  gesture  with  her  hand,  as  if  ashamed  of  dwelling 
upon  the  thought,  ashamed  of  the  strange  sense  of  joy  which 
nestled  warmly  about  her  heart. 

And  it  was  shameful  that  this  man,  this — this  tramp,  who 
had  come  from  no  one  knew  where  should  dare  to  love  her, 
should  dare  to  kiss  her! 

She  put  up  her  hankerchief  to  dash  it  across  the  lips  he  had 
profaned,  but  her  hand  faltered  half  way  and  it  fell  in  her 
lap;  and  her  head  drooped,  bowed  down  with  the  torturing 
sense  that  the  kiss  had  been  sweet  to  her,  that  even  the  re- 
membrance was  sweet  with  a  jov,  a  delight  which  over- 
whelmed and  bore  down  the  anger  and  resentment  with 
which  she  ought  to  be  burning. 

What  should  she  do?  He  must  go  away  at  once.  She  must 
not  see  him  again.  Instantly  her  heart  grew  heavy  as  lead, 
and  a  feeling  of  irreparable  loss,  of  crushing  sorrow  came 
over  her.  She  fought  against  it  as  a  woman  fights  against 
the  suspicion  that  she  loves  a  man  whom  she  should  not  love, 
that  her  heart  is  stealing  from  her  to  one  unworthy  of  it;  but 
the  struggle  was  a  futile  one.  She  knew  that  it  was  too  late. 

The  pang  of  pain,  almost  of  agony,  which  had  smote  her 
at  the  prospect  of  never  seeing  him  again,  was  a  revelation. 
She  knew  now  why  she  had  always  been  so  happy  when  he 
was  near  her,  why  the  sight  of  him,  the  sound  of  his  deep, 
musical  voice  had  filled  her  with  a  peace,  a  sensation  of  rest 
and  serenity  which  took  the  place  of  the  restlessness  which 
consumed  her  when  he  was  absent. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I — love  him'"'  she  mut-mured,  her 
breath  labouring  under  the  stress  of  the  thought.  "  That  I 
love  this  man,  this  stranger  of  whom  I  know  not'niag?  Oh, 
it  is  shameful,  shameful  I" 

Her  hand  flew  to  her  face  as  if  she  would  hide  from  herself 
the  blush  that  burnt  her;  then  she  looked  straight  before  her 
with  knitted  brows  and  tightly  strained  lips. 

If  it  was  so,  she  must  crush  it  ttown,  tear  this  lovs  out  of 
her  bosom,  must  hide  it  from  every  eye,  must  kill  it  with  self- 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  151 

and  ridicule.  She  would  remind  herself,  a  hundred 
times  a  day,  if  necessary,  that  she  was  a  Vancourt,  the  mis- 
tress of  the  Towers,  and  that  this  man  was  little  better  than 
one  of  the  labourers  on  her  own  estate. 

It  was  a  grand  resolve;  but,  alas!  as  she  made  it,  the  wish 
that  she  was  one  of  the  labourer's  daughters  swept  across  her. 
And  she  knew,  too,  that,  tramp  though  he  had  seemed,  the 
man  was  a  gentleman;  that  in  manner  and  speech  and  bear- 
ing he  had  always  seemed  her  equal — until  to-night,  when  he 
had  so  strangely  lost  self-control.  Yes,  she  must  forget  him, 
and  he  must  go;  but  how  hard  that  forgetfuluess  would  be 
she  knew  with  an  almost  fierce  bitterness.  Every  hour  of  the 
day  she  would  miss  him,  every  hour  of  the  waking  night — 
and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  should  never  sleep  again.  If 
he  had  only  gone  before — before  to-day! 

Suddenly  she  remembered  the  love  story  of  one  of  her 
pupils.  The  girl  was  one  of  those  gentle,  placid,  saintly 
creatures,  apparently  as  cold  as  Diana:  absorbed  in  her  grey 
and  colourless  life,  with  no  thought  of  or  desire  for  love. 
Then  the  man  had  come,  and  wooed  her,  but  in  vain. 

"  I  could  not  care  for  him,"  she  had  said  to  Esther,  in  her 
placid,  maidenly  way.  "  I  am  told  that  he  is — not  good, 
and  I  do  not  think  he  is.  I  hope  I  shall  not  see  him  again." 

And  a  fortnight  later  she  had  told  Esther,  as  they  sat  at 
the  piano,  that  she  was  going  to  marry  him:  and  that  she 
loved  him! 

Esther  had  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  The  girl  was 
transformed;  there  was  a  light  in  her  dreamy  eyes,  a  faint 
smile  on  her  lips.  A  subtle  change  had  been  wrought  in  her. 

"  Why,  you  told  me  you  could  never  possibly  care  for 
him!''  Esther  had  exclaimed. 

"  Yes- — I  remember,"  responded  the  girl,  simply.  "  And 
I  meant  it.  But  it  was  this  way:  He  came  in  here,  into  this 
room  " — she  had  looked  round  as  if  the  room  has  also  been 
transformed  from  a  commonplace  drawing-room  to  the  ante- 
chamber of  paradise — "  and  told  me  that  he  loved  me.  Then, 
even  ^hile  I  said  '  no!'  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
me — and  that  changed  it  all,  somehow —  Oh,  yes,  I  told  you 
that  I  should  never  care  for  him:  but  he  hadn't  kissed  me 
then." 

Esther  had  not  understood  it,  had  been  puzzled  and  be- 
wildered: but  she  understood  now  as  she  sat  face  to  face  with 
her  own  heart  in  the  stillness  of  rhn  wood.  She  knew  now! 

"  But  I  am,  differentl"  she  exclaimed,  almost  aloud.     "  J 


152  I0VE,  THE  TYRAOT. 

will  not  yield  as  Sophie  Clark  did.     I  will  fight  against  it  5t 
the  death,  will  crush  it  out  whatever  it  may  cost  me." 

She  rose  as  she  uttered  the  words  through  her  clenched 
teeth,  intending  to  go  home  and  begin  the  fight  in  her  own 
room;  but  while  she  was  dragging  her  sun-bonnet  on  she 
heard  footsteps  approaching.  She  knew  them  too  well,  alas! 
and  with  a  beating  heart  she  leant  against  the  tree  and  waited 
till  they  should  pass. 

Jack  had  even  a  worse  time  than  Esther.  One  of  the  dis° 
advantages  of  being  a  gentleman  is  the  remorse  which  he 
suffers  when  he  forgets  the  fact  and  sins  against  his  creed. 
And  Jack  knew  that  he  had  sinned  very  deeply,  heinously, 
criminally! 

As  Esther  walked  away  he  wished  that  some  one  would  be 
kind  enough  to  shoot  him,  and  felt  very  much  inclined  to  go 
home  and  shoot  himself.  For  some  time  past  he  had  been 
fighiing  against  his  love  for  Esther,  and  had  flattered  himself 
that  he  was  succeeding;  but  that  love  had  sprang  up  like  a 
giant,  like  a  despotic  tyrant,  as  he  felt  her  in  his  arms;  and 
in  that  moment  passion  had  swept  away  all  restraints  of  self- 
respect,  of  his  homage  for  women,  of  the  instincts  of  civilisa- 
tion, even! 

"I'm  a  ruffian,  that's  what  I  am,"  he  said  to  himself, 
grimly.  "  I'm  as  bad  as  the  worst  of  the  men  I  used  to  look 
down  upon  out  there  in  the  bush.  Poor  little  girl!  I  wish 
she'd  struck  me.  I  deserve  it.  Deserve  it!"  He  swore 
under  his  breath.  "  There's  nothing  too  bad  for  me.  What 
am  I  to  do?  There's  only  one  thing;  I  must  clear  out  at 
once.  I  mustn't  run  the  chance  of  meeting  her  again.  The 
mere  sight  of  me  would  be  an  insult  to  her.  And  I  promised 
poor  Jack  that  I'd  take  care  of  his  little  sister.  I  must  have 
been  mad  for  the  moment.  Yes,  I  ought  to  be  shot  as  some- 
thing too  dangerous  to  be  left  at  large." 

He  leant  on  a  hay-fork  and  shook  with  the  conflicting  emo- 
tions that  racked  him. 

"God!  how  I  love  her!"  he  muttered.  "And  I  shall 
never  see  her  again!  That's  bad  to  bear — never  see  her 
again — " 

He  started  and  raised  his  head  as  one  of  the  men  cams  up, 
and  the  man  stopped  short  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Do'ee  feel  queer,  master?"  he  asked. 

Jack  laughed,  and  the  laugh  made  the  man  shrink  back  a 
step. 

What  the  devil  do  you  mean?    Why  don't  you  finish  up? 
What  axe  TOO  loafing  about  for?"    Then  lie  bit  his  lip  and 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT.  153 

set  his  teeth  hard.     "  All  right.     Yes,  Fm  rather  queer:  but 
it's  all  right  now.     What  do  you  want?" 

"  If  you  please  to  give  an  eye  to  the  rick  before  us  leaves, 
sir,"  the  man  stammered;  and  Jack,  with  a  nod,  followed 
him,  mounted  the  rick  and  mechanically  put  the  last  touches 
to  it.  Then  he  came  down  and  sent  the  men  home.  When 
they  had  gone  he  walked  round  the  fields,  as  was  his  duty;  but 
he  moved  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  and  every  now  and  then  he 
stopped  and  leant  on  the  fork  he  still  carried,  as  if  he  ware 
worn  out.  A  gate  had  been  left  open,  and  he  went  wearily 
to  shut  it.  As  he  did  so,  Kate  Transom  passed  down  the  lane 
before  him.  She  raised  her  head  and  glanced  at  him.  Jack 
lifted  his  hat;  then  she  paused  as  if  struck  by  the  look  on  his 
face,  and  stood  gazing  at  him  with  timid  anxiety. 

"  Are  you — are  you  ill,  sir?"  she  asked. 

Jack  forced  a  smile. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  he  said.  "  Only  tired.  I'm  afraid  you  are, 
too.  Good-night." 

She  was  moving  away,  but  she  paused  again,  and  yery 
timidly  drew  nearer. 

"  I'm — I'm  sure  you  are  ill,"  she  said,  tremulously.  "  Let 
me — can't  I  get  something?  You — you  helped  me  when  I 
was  ill."  The  colour  rose  to  her  face,  and  her  eyes  implored 
him  mutely.  "  Let  me  run  back  to  the  farm  and  get  some 
spirit.  I  will  not  be  a  moment  or  two." 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  caught  her  arm  to  stay  her. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said.  "  You  are  very  kind — kinder  than  I 
deserve.  I'm  all  right.  Good-night." 

She  stood  looking  up  at  him  while  one  could  count  twenty, 
then  she  sighed,  and  turned  and  left  him. 

Jack  closed  the  gate  and  tramped  back  through  the  now 
deserted  fields  to  the  cottage;  and  Bob  followed  sadly  with 
drooping  head,  for  he  knew  that  his  beloved  master  was  un- 
happ>r  about  something, 

Jack  sank  into  a  chair  and  looked  round  wistfully;  then  he 
laughed  grimly,  and  patted  the  dog,  whose  head  lay  on  his 
.knee. 

"  Ydfe;  we've  got  to  clear  oat,  Bob,"  he  said.     "  It's  m; 
fault — all  my  fault.     We  must  get  on  the  tramp  again,  oli 
chap:  it's  rough  on  you — for  you  were  happy — as  happy  as 
myself,  eh? — but  there's  no  help  for  it.    We'd  better  pack  at 
once.     It  won't  take  us  long,  that's  one  comfort." 

He  rose  and  began  to  get  his  few  things  together  in  a  me- 
chanical fashion;  but  presently  he  drew  a  long  breath  a?  if  he 
Were  stilling. 


,   THE  TYRANT. 

"  It's  hot,  Bob,  isn't  it?  "We'll  take  a  turn  in  the  woods— 
for  the  last  time,  the  last  time!" 

Bob  gave  a  short  bark  of  approval;  no  doubt  thinking  that 
his  beloved  master  might  get  more  cheerful  in  the  open  air, 
and  Jack,  mechanically  taking  up  his  gun,  went  out  Hii 
brain  was  beginning  to  clear  from  the  confusion  which  re- 
morse had  produced,  and  as  he  walked  along  with  bent  head, 
fie  was  asking  himself  whether  there  was  any  escape  from  the 
misery  which  lay  before  him,  for  he  knew  that  this  was  the 
one  love  of  his  life,  and  that  it  would  last  him  for  as  long  as 
he  should  live. 

"  Once  or  twice  I've  fancied  that  I've  been  hit,"  he  mused. 
"  but  it  was  only  fancy,  and  passed  off  like  Nettie's  measles 
but  this — this  is  the  real  thing,  and  I've  got  it  badly;  and  it's 
hopeless!  If  I  hadn't — done  what  I  did  to-night,  and  behaved 
like  a  brute,  I  might  have  tried  to  win  her.  But  no,  she 
would  never  have  stooped  to  marry  a  man  so  far  beneath  her 
as  she  thinks  I  am,  and  I  couldn't  have  told  her  who  I  really 
am.  That  would  have  been  worse  still,  for  her  pride — and 
my  darling  is  as  proud  d&  a  female  Lucifer,  bless  her!  I  love 
her  all  the  better  for  it — would  have  been  up  in  arms,  and 
she  would  die  rather  than  marry  me.  She'd  think  I'd  only 
asked  her  so  that  she  shouldn't  lose  the  estate!  Oh,  Lord, 
what  a  maze  it  is!  But  it  doesn't  matter;  I've  settled  my  hash 
with  perfect  completeness.  She  must  hate  me;  she  must 
feel — oh,  I  know  what  she  must  feel!" 

He  stopped  and  wiped  the  drops  of  sweat  from  his  face — it 
was  still  pale  and  drawn,  as  if  he  were  suffering  physical  pain 
— and  looked  round  him,  and  at  the  glimpse  of  the  Towers 
which  he  could  see  through  the  trees. 

"  And  jet  people  say  there  is  no  such  thing  as  luck!"  he 
muttered,  bitterly.  "  There  is,  and  I've  got  the  devil's  own. 
I've  had  it  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  it  clings  to  me  like  a  horse- 
leech. That  place  is  mine — but  I  hear  of  it  just  after  I've 
given  it  away  in  a  sacred  promise,  and  so  I'm  doomed  to  a 
tramp's  life.  In  there  is  the  girl  I  love,  and  I've  not  only  no 
chance  of  winning  her,  but  I've  offended  her  beyond  the  hope 
of  pardon —  What's  that?" 

His  quick  eye  had  caught  sight  of  something  moving  lightly 
behind  a  tree,  and  Bob  had  uttered  a  low  and  warning  growL 

"  One  of  these  poaching  thieves,  I  suppose.  Dick  Keeve^ 
perhaps.  Well,  if  he  only  knew,  he  could  blaze  away  at  mfr 
to-night,  and  I  shouldn't  trouble  to  stop  him.  I'd  better  go 
and  see — though  it's  not  my  duty,"  he  added,  grimly. 

But  as  he  went  towards  the  spot,  Bob's  growl  changed  to  a 


LOVE,   THE  TYRANT.  155 

bark  of  welcome,  and  he  ran  forward.  In  another  moment 
Jack  saw  that  it  was  Esther.  She  was  standing  erect  as  an 
arrow,  the  moonlight  falling  on  her  face,  white  as  if  carved 
in  stone:  a  statue  of  wounded  pride  and  resentment,  in  Jack's 
eyes. 

*  He  stopped  dead  short,  and  was  about  to  turn  and  walk 
away,  but  the  longing  to  hear  her  speak  once  more,  even 
though  it  were  in  anger  and  scorn,  mastered  him,  and  he 
moved  towards  her.  It  was  very  probable  she  would  not  re- 
main, that  she  would  be  afraid  of  him.  Afraid  of  him!  It 
was  a  bitter  reflection,  and  made  him  want  to  cry  out;  but, 
to  his  surprise  and  relief,  she  waited  for  him,  her  grey  eyes, 
violet  now,  fixed  upon  him  steadily. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  held  it  in  his  hand.  She  could  not 
see  his  face  distinctly,  for  his  back  was  to  the  moonlight,  but 
the  action  was  not  lost  upon  her.  He  had  bared  his  head  for 
shame:  there  was  that  much  of  grace  in  his  nature,  at  any  rate. 
Within  a  couple  of  paces  of  her  he  stopped  and  looked  at  her 
in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  Esther's  eyes  still  met  his  with 
cold  anger. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you,  Miss  Vancourt?"  he  said  at  last. 

There  was  no  brusqueness  in  his  tone  now;  but  though  it 
was  humble  enough,  there  was  a  touch  of  dignity  in  its  gen- 
tleness. It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  Jack  had  had  to 
sue  for  pardon,  and  he  did  it  with  the  air  of  otie  who  does  not 
expect  to  receive  forgiveness. 

Esther's  heart  was  beating  fast,  and  her  throat  seemed  dry, 
but  there  was  no  tremour  in  her  voice  as  she  replied  coldly, 
proudly: 

"  What  can  you  have  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Gordon?  And 
what  business  have  you  in  the  woods?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  a  woman's  mercilessness,  know- 
ing well  how  it  would  sting  him. 

Jack  winced. 

"  None.  I  know  that  I  am  trespassing,"  he  said,  grimly. 
"  but  I  didn't  expect — think  to  meet  you,"  he  said,  with  the 
simplicity  of  the  man. 

She  coloured,  but  too  faintly  for  him  to  see,  and  her  teeth 
caught  sharply  at  her  under  lip. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  house,  and  I  can  only  remain  a  mo- 
ment. Say  what  yon  wish  to  say  quickly,  if  you  please." 

Jack  drew  his  breath. 

"  It's  only  that — I'm  sorry,"  he  said  in  his  low,  grave 
ftice.  "  Of  course,  I  know  that  ';hat  doesn't  better  matters. 


156  LOVE,   THE  TYEA5TT. 

Most  men  are  sorry  when  they've  acted  like  brutes  ani. 
and  I  acted  like  a  cad  just  now — in  the  field." 

The  red  of  shame  flooded  his  face,  and  he  looked  down,  so 
that  he  did  not  see  the  responding  crimson  in  hers.  When 
he  looked  her  face  was  white  and  statuesque  again. 

"I  can't  tell  what  made  me  do  it."  He  paused,  and 
strangled  a  sigh:  for  how  well  he  could  have  told  her  if  he 
had  been  free  to  do  so!  "I  must  have  been  mad — have  lost 
my  senses.  I  never  did  such  a  thing  before." 

He  volunteered  this  piece  of  information,  not  in  a  tone  of 
excuse,  but  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  struck  by  the  fact,  and 
as  he  said  it,  a  keen  pleasure,  a  swift  sense  of  satisfaction, 
stirred  in  Esther's  beating  heart. 

"  That's  no  excuse,  of  course.  In  fact,  I  haven't  any  ex- 
cuse— except — "  He  paused  and  stumbled,  and  half  uncon- 
sciously his  eyes  rested  on  the  white,  lovely  face  with  a  pas- 
sionate love  and  admiration  which,  alas!  Esther  could  not 
see.  "  Ah,  well,  it  does  not  matter!  There's  no  excuse,  and 
nothing  I  could  say  would  lessen  the  offence.  I  behaved  like 
a  ruffian,  a  madman,  and  I  don't  ask,  hope,  that  you'll  for- 
give me.  I'm  not  such  a  fool!  No  woman  could  forgive 
such  an — an  insult!  And  yet,  before  Heaven,  I  didn't  mean 
it  as  such!" 

His  voice  had  quickened  and  deepened,  and  his  eyes  flashed 
as  they  rested  on  her,  and  for  the  moment  Esther's  sank  be- 
fore the  fire  in  his. 

"  What  else  was  it?  What  else  did  you  mean?"  she  asked, 
cjuietly  enough,  but  with  every  word  falling  on  his  heart  like 
ice. 

He  swept  his  hand  across  his  knitted  brows. 

"  I  don  t  know — I  can't  tell  you.  I  only  know  that  I'd 
rather  die  than  insult  you,  or  let  another  man  offer  you  one," 
he  said,  almost  sternly.  "  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  sorry; 
that  if  there  was  anything  I  could  do  to  wipe  out  the  remem- 
brance of  my  act  I  would  do  it,  whatever  it  might  be.  When 
a  gentleman — " 

He  checked  himself  as  if  the  word  had  slipped  from  him 
inadvertently,  and  Esther  caught  it  up. 

"  I  have  always  understood  a  gentleman  is  known  by  his 
conduct,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said,  incisively. 

Jack  nodded. 

"  That's  true.  I've  no  right  to  the  term.  I  take  it  back. 
When  a  man  has  behaved  as  I  have,  the  only  thing  he  can  do 
is  to  say  that  he's  sorry  and  remove  himself  from  the  face  c.r 
the  earth  if  he  can;  at  anv  rate,  ont  of  the  sierhf  of  the  woman 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  157 

he  has  offended.  I've  felt  strongly  tempted  to  shoot  myself  " 
—he  laughed  bitterly — "  hut  that  wouldn't  have  wiped  cut 
my  black  deed,  would  it?" 

He  did  not  see  that  her  lips  had  quivered  and,  her  eyes  had 
closed  for  an  instant,  and  he  went  on,  gravely: 

"  But  I  needn't  say  that  I  am  going  away  at  once.  I  sup« 
pose  I  ought  to  have  had  the  grace  to  wait  until  you  had  dis- 
missed me,  Miss  Vancourt?  Yes;  I  didn't  think  of  that! 
You  see  what  a  thick-headed  idiot  I  am!" 

She  leant  back  slowly  until  the  tree  supported  her;  but 
said  nothing.  He  was  going!  Well,  that  was  right,  was  quite 
right  and  inevitable. 

"  I  will  go  to-morrow  morning,"  he  went  on,  checking  a 
sigh,  and  after  a  pause  during  which  he  had  waited  for  her  to 
speak,  with  the,  he  knew,  wild  hope  that  she  might —  Ah, 
but  it  was  too  wild  a  hope.  "  Martin  is  nearly  all  right,  and 
the  hay  is  in;  and  there  really  isn't  any  need  for  me  to  stay 
on,  under  any  circumstances.  The  wheat — " 

Esther  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  her  hand. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  discuss  the  condition  of  the 
wheat  with  you,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said,  haughtily,  all  the 
more  haughtily  for  the  dull  pain  that  was  aching  in  her  heart. 

Poor  Jack  coloured  under  the  little  womanish  stab. 

"  Of  course  not.  I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  said  for  the  first 
time,  meekly.  "  I  ought  to  have  kept  that  for  Martin;  but 
you've  always  taken  an  interest  in  the  farm —  However,  I 
oeg  vour  pardon!" 

''You  go  to-morrow?"  she  said,  after  a  silence,  during 
which  he  had  tried  to  force  himself  to  go,  to  tear  himself 
away  from  the  woman  for  whom  his  heart  clamoured. 

He  nodded. 

"  Yes;  I'd  go  to-night,  but  I  want  to  see  Martin — and  it's 
late." 

"  Just  so,"  she  said,  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  a  servant. 
"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to — to  leave  your  work  unfinished. 
You  may  remain  until — until  the  day  afcer,  if  it  is  neces- 
sary." 

She  tried  to  speak  coldly;  she  felt  as  if  she  could  dash  the 
words  back  from  her  lips;  but  they  would  come.  To  keep 
him  for  even  one  day  was — oh,  the  shame  of  it! — so  much  to 
her. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  Of  course  I'll  take 
care  " — he  stammered  and  broke  down — "  I'll  be  carefal  that 
I — that  you —  I'll  keep  out  of  your  sight,  Miss  Vancourt. 
I'll  go  to-morrow  if  I  can — I'd  intended  to:  but  Martin  mat 


158  WJVB,  THE  TYKAOT. 

want  me — there  are  one  or  two  things  to  do — bnt  the  day 
after  I  can  get  away  for  certain." 

She  inclined  her  head. 

"  Where—"  She  tried  to  stop  herself,  but  failed.  "  Where 
areyou  going?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  know  quite.  It  doesn't  matter.  To  London,  I 
expect.  There's  always  work  in  the  docks — perhaps  abroad, 
to  the  old  game — "  He  stopped. 

Abroad!  He  would  leave  England!  An  awful  sensation 
of  despair  closed  about  her  heart  like  ice.  He  would  go  away 
poor  and  friendless.  Oh!  of  course  he  deserved  it  all,  but — 
but! —  She  turned  her  head  away  from  him,  and  fought 
down  the  lump  that  rose  in  her  throat. 

"  If — if  you  want  money,"  she  began,  then  she  stopped,  as 
the  blood  mounted  to  Jack's  face.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
looking  at  her  sternly,  then  he  smiled. 

"  That  is  something  like  '  coals  of  fire,'  Miss  Vancourt," 
he  said,  grimly.  "  But  I  deserve  it.  And  I  thank  you.  No; 
I  don't  want  money.  There's  my  wages —  Good  God! 
women  have  no  mercy!" 

The  last  words  were  almost  inaudible,  but  she  caught  the 
sense  of  his  exclamation,  and  she  trembled.  If  he  had  throwa 
himself  at  her  feet — if  he  had  flung  his  arms  round  her  head 
she  would  have  fallen  on  his  breast  and  all  would  have  been 
well;  but  he  stood  wounded  to  the  core;  and  she,  feeling  the 
wound  as  keenly  as  he,  yet  hardened  her  heart,  and  setting 
her  teeth  firmly  would  not  yield  an  inch  to  the  temptation 
that  assailed  her;  the  terrible  longing  to  cry:  "  No,  no;  I 
did  not  mean  it  so!" 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  presently.  *'  I  don't  deserve 
that  you  should  give  a  thought  fco  my  welfare,  and  I'm  very 
grateful  to  you.  You've  treated  me  better  than  I  deserve; 
and  I'll  take  care  that  you  sha'n't  be  annoyed  by  the  sight  of 
me  while  I'm  here." 

There  was  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice  which  Bob  heard, 
and  he  went  to  his  master  and  thrust  his  muzzle  against  him; 
then  he  walked  slowly  to  Esther  and  licked  the  white  hand 
that  hung  at  her  side. 

Jack  looked  at  the  dog  absently;  then  he  said,  as  if  the 
thought  had  just  struck  him: 

"  Miss  Vancourt,  if  you've  any  desire  to  heap  further  coals 
on  my  head,  you  can  do  so  by  granting  me  a  favour — it's  like 
my  cheek  to  ask  you,  but —  Well,  I'm  fond  of  him.  and  it 
foe?  hard  with  him  while  I'm  on  the  tramo,  or  at  work,  and 


I0VE,  THE  TYBAN1*  159 

it's  likely  as  not  I  shall  have  him  stolen — I've  haa  one  or  two 
Barrow  escapes  already.  Will  you — I  won't  say  accept  him 
—but  be  good  enough  to  give  him  a  happy  home?" 

She  understood,  of  course.  It  was  trie  most  precious  thing 
he  had  got — the  only  thing,  indeed,  he  valued;  and  he  was 
offering  it  to  her  as  a  peace-offering,  as  a  token  of  his  peni- 
tence and  remorse.  The  lump  rose  in  her  throat;  but  she 
Aardened  herself  again. 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  him,"  she  said  in  a  strangely  dull 
iroice. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  perhaps  you  might 
have  been  kind  enough.  Poor  old  Bob!  he'll  have  a  rough 
time  of  it." 

She  looked  at  the  dog's  upturned  eyes,  large  and  sad — as  if 
he  knew  what  was  being  said — and  her  breath  came  painfully. 

"  If  you  think  he  may  be  ill-treated — that  you  may  lose 
him,  you  may  leave  him,  if  you  like.  He  shall  be  taken  care 
of."  ' 

As  she  said  it  with  seeming  reluctance,  she  wondered  he 
did  not  see  that  her  anger  had  melted,  that  her  coldness  was 
more  than  half  assumed.  But  Jack  was  a  modest  man,  and 
no  lady-killer,  and  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  the  truth.  It 
only  appeared  to  him  that  she  was  treating  him  very  leniently, 
that  she  regarded  him  as  too  common,  too  unimportant  for  a 
continued  resentment. 

"  Thanks!"  he  said,  with  forced  cheerfulness,  and  averting 
his  e-.es  from  Bob.  "  I'll  go  now.  If  I  dared,  I'd  ask  you 
to  try  and  forgive  me —  But  that's  impossible,  I  know,"  he 
broke  off,  almost  hoarsely.  "  Good-night,  and  good-bye, 
Miss  Vancourt."  He  put  his  hat  on;  he  had  held  it  in  his 
luiuu  till  now.  "  I'll  send  Bob  with  you  now.  He'll  take 
care  of  you  to  the  house — it's  late,  and  some  one  may  be  in 
the  wood."  He  looked  at  the  dog,  then  looked  away  again 
quickly  as  he  uttered  the  command:  "  Go  with  her,  Bob!" 

Esther  could  scarcely  breathe  for  the  painful  throbbing  of 
her  heart  as  she  turned  to  go.  But  Bob,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  refused  to  obey,  and  ran  back  to  Jack  with  an  im- 
ploring whine. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said.     "  I  will  send  for  him." 

The  tears  were  in  her  eyes;  but  he  was  bending  over  Bob 
and  did  not  see  them. 

<;  One  moment,"  he  said,  still  with  suspicious  indifference. 
"  I'll  tie  something  to  his  collar.     He'll  follow  you  readily 
enough  after  you've  led  him  a  few  yards." 
b  He  hunted  for  his  handkerchief,  then  remembered  it  was  im 


160  LOVE,   THE  TTRANT. 

the  breast-pocket  of  his  shirt,  and  thrust  his  hand  in  for  it. 
In  taking  it  out,  he  took  out  another,  and  the  second  fell  to 
the  ground.  He  stooped  quickly  to  recover  it,  but  Esther 
had  seen  it:  and  recognised  it:  it  was  stained  with  blood.  A 
cry  rose  to  her  lips,  but  she  stifled  it,  and  her  eyes  rested  on 
his  head  with  the  look  which  a  woman  bends  only  on  the  man 
she  loves,  and  loves  passionately — and,  Heaven,  how  that 
love  welled  up  in  her  heart  at  that  moment! — but  she  fought 
it  down  with  that  strength  which  is  woman's  birthright,  and 
her  voice  sounded  coldly  enough  to  Jack  as  she  said : 

"  I  think  that  is  my  handkerchief?" 

His  hand  closed  over  it,  and  he  looked  at  her  for  a  moment 
steadily.  Should  he  give  it  her?  No!  She  might  have  the 
Towers,  she  might  have  even  Bob,  but  that  little  square  of 
dainty  cambric  he  would  keep  at  all  costs. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  he  said.    "  It  is  one  of  Nettie's." 

He  uttered  the  lie  calmly,  unblushingly.  And  Esther  was 
too  staggered  by  his  denial,  and  by  the  joy  it  gave  her,  to 
pronounce  a  word. 

"  There  he  is,"  he  said,  as  he  tied  his  handkerchief  to 
Bob's  collar.  "  Go  now,  old  man!  Good-bye!  There, 
the  re !  Good-bye,  Miss  Vancourt ! ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then,  before  she  could 
raise  her  eyes — in  which  surely  he  would  have  read  the  con- 
fession of  her  love! — he  turned  and  strode  away.  But  he 
stopped  when  she  was  out  of  sight  and  listened  to  her  retreat- 
ing footsteps,  and  Bob's  whine,  both  stabbing  him  to  the 
heart.  There  went  the  two  creatures  he  loved.  He  waited 
until  he  saw  the  two  mount  the  steps  to  the  house,  then  he 
walked  away  with  bent  head  and  nerves  on  edge. 

The  distance  to  the  house  was  short,  but  the  struggle  of 
Esther's  life  took  place  in  it. 

"  Go  back  to  him!  Call  to  him!  One  word  only!  Don't 
let  him  go!  He  has  your  heart  in  his  bosom;  there,  under 
that  handkerchief.  Crush  down  that  pride  of  yours  and  call 
to  him!  The  man  loves  you — and  he  is  a  man,  though  your 
inferior.  Call  him  and  tell  him  you  love  him,  or,  like  a  fool, 
be  wretched  for  the  rest  of  your  life!" 

But  she  walked  on,  slowly  and  still  more  slowly;  the  un- 
happy Bob  looking  up  at  her  with  great  imploring  eyes;  he 
also,  echoing  the  cry  of  her  heart. 

She  might  have  turned,  even  at  the  door,  but  Palmer  was 
waiting  for  her,  and  maidenly  shame  restrained  her. 

"  Are — are  Miss  Worcester  and  Mr.  Lay  ton  back?"  she 
asked. 


THE  TYRANT. 

"  Not  yev,  miss,"  he  replied. 

"  I — I  am  tired.  Will,  you  ask  them,  please,  to  excuse  me? 
I  am  going  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  he  said. 

He  was  attached  to  her;  indeed,  all  the  servants  were  de- 
voted to  her,  and  he  ventured  to  fetch  her  a  glass  of  wine. 

**  I  thought  perhaps,  miss,"  he  said,  respectfully,  almost 
awefully;  for  the  young  girl  had  been  transformed  to  a 
woman  that  night,  and  there  was  something  of  woman's  di- 
vinity in  the  tall,  slim  figure,  the  white,  lovely  face  "  Thank 
you,  Palmer,"  she  said,  wearily. 

She  took  the  wine  and  drank  it  gratefully. 

"  Shall  I  take  the  dog,  miss?" 

She  was  about  to  yield  it,  then  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No;  1  will  take  it  to  my  own  room.  "  It — it  might  bark 
or  howl.  It  will  be  quite  good — it  sleeps  in  Mr.  Gordon's 
room:  he  has  given  it  to  me.  Come,  Bob!" 

She  led  him  upstairs,  and  when  she  had  closed  the  door 
flung  herself  down  beside  him  and  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck. 

"  Oh,  Bob,  I  love  him — I  love  him!"  she  wailed  "  I  love 
him,  and  he  is  going  away,  going  away  from  both  of  us!" 

Bob  uttered  a  plaintive  little  howl,  and  licked  her  face. 
The  door  opened  and  Marie  entered. 

"  Beg  pardon,  miss;  I  thought  you'd  be  ready  for  me," 
she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Esther,  rising  and  averting  her  face.  "  Wait; 
get  some  milk,  biscuits,  for  Bob.  Mr.  Gordon  has  given  him 
to  me — he  is  going." 

"  Goin',  is  he,  miss?"  said  Marie.  "  Well,  that  is  a  sur- 
prise. Whatever  will  Kate  Transom  do?" 

Esther  had  gone  to  the  glass  and  was  loosening  her  dress. 
She  turned  sharply,  her  lips  apart,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  girL 

"  What  will  Kate —  What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded, 
with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

Marie  smiled  and  simpered  after  the  manner  of  her  kind. 

"  Lor',  miss!  don't  you  know?    They're  engaged!" 

Esther's  hand  stole  behind  her  and  gripped  the  edga  of  the 
dressing-  cable. 

"  Engaged  1  It's — not — true!"  she  said,  with  a  forced 
calmness. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is,  miss.  They've  been  keeping  company  for 
a  long  while.  Why,  Giles  and  me  saw  them  in  the  woods  the 
other  night.  They  was  walking  arm-in-arm,  groper-like,  and 

&&  Was  biasing  hjQr— — " 


162  LOVE,   THE  TYKANT. 

Before  she  had  time  to  complete  this  bit  of  fiction,  a  gest- 
ure from  Esther  stopped  her. 

"  That  will  do,"  she  said.  "  Take— take  the  dog  down, 
and  tell  Palmer  to  have  him  shut  up  in  the  stable— or  any- 
where. And  I  shall  not  want  you  again  to-night.  I  shall 
read — and  be  late,  perhaps." 

She  stood  until  the  girl  had  gone,  then,  as  the  mist  deep 
ened  before  her  eyes,  she  slipped  to  her  knees,  and  her  face 
fell  upon  her  arms  outstretched  on  the  table. 

And  wounded  Love  and  outraged  Pride  had  their  cruel  will 
of  her. 


As  Jack  was  passing  the  farm  lodge,  the  door  opened  and 
Mrs.  Martin  came  out. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Gordon?"  she  asked,  in  a  nervous 
fashion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  as  he  stopped,  keeping  out  of  the  moon- 
light, so  that  she  might  not  see  his  face;  for  he  knew  how 
white  and  haggard  it  was.  "  Is  anything  the  matter?  Mar- 
tin—Nettie?" 

"  No,"  she  replied;  "  they're  both  asleep;  but — it's  fool- 
ish of  me  to  be  so  nervous  and  timid — a  man  came  up  to  the 
door  a  little  while  ago  and  asked  the  way  to  the  Towers." 

"  A  man?"  said  Jack,  absently. 

"  Yes.    A  stranger,  of  course.    A  tall,  dark  man." 

"  A  tramp?" 

"  N-o;  he  was  too  well  dressed  for  that  Looked  some- 
thing like  a  gentleman,  and  yet  there  was  something  in  the 
look  of  him  I  didn't  like,  and  I  was  a  bit  afraid  of  him.  But 
there!  it's  all  my  fancy,  I  daresay." 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Only  a  commercial  traveller  or  photographer,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort,  I  expect,  Mrs.  Martin,"  he  said.  "  Don't 
be  nervous.  I'll  take  a  look  round  before  I  turn  in.  Good' 
night!" 

CHAPTER  XX. 

ESTHER  lay  awake  the  whole  night.  Only  a  woman  can 
understand  the  complex  emotions  which  made  that  night  a 
torture.  She  had  given  her  heart  to  a  man  not  only  a  social 
inferior,  but  a  man  who  was  either  engaged  to  another  woman 
•r  had  been  carrying  on  an  intrigue  with  her. 

Wounded  love,  outraged  uxide.  and  bitter  shame  of  her 


LOVE,   THE  TYEAOT. 

Own  •weakness,  as  she  called  it,  rent  and  racked  her  as  the 
slow  hours  crawled  along,  each  one  forming  a  record  on  her 
aching  heart  which  she  felt  no  time  could  eradicate. 

But  she  fought  hard,  as  the  youngest  and  least  experienced 
of  women  will  do.  No  living  soul  should  ever  guess  her  secret; 
she  would  hide  it,  as  the  Spartan  boy  hid  the  stolen  fox  in  his 
bosom,  and,  though  it  tore  and  lacerated  her,  she  would  make 
no  sign. 

There  were  dark  shadows  under  her  eyes  when  she  came 
down  to  breakfast,  but  she  was  cheerful,  extraordinarily  so, 
and  she  came  into  the  room  singing  blithely. 

Who  does  not  know  that  song,  that  smile  and  laugh,  with 
which  one  tries  to  hide,  even  from  oneself,  the  aching,  pain- 
racked  heart? 

Miss  Worcester  and  Selby  Layton  were  already  at  the  table, 
and  she  noJJed  to  him  and  kissed  her  aunt  with  an  air  almost 
ofgaiety. 

"  Sorry  I'm  late,"  she  said.  "  I've  had  such  a  splendid 
night,  and  I  overslept  myself.  Did  you  have  a  good  time 
last  night?" 

Selby  Layton  looked  at  her  reproachfully  as  he  placed  a 
chair  for  her  at  the  table. 

"  It  was  a  very  pleasant  evening,  I  suppose,"  he  said; 
"  but  it  was  spoiled  for  me  by  your  absence,  Miss  Vancourt. 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  say  that!"  said  Esther.  "  It  is  so 
nice  to  be  missed!" 

"  I  am  sure  every  one  missed  you,"  said  Miss  Worcester  in 
her  prim  way.  "  Lord  Bruce  was  quite  cut  up  when  he  heard 
that  you  were  not  well  enough  to  come.  It  was  an  extremely 
pleasant  little  party.  The  Fanworths  were  there,  and  Major 
Long,  and  the  vicar  and  his  wife.  The  dinner  was  admirably 
cooked,  was  it  not,  Mr.  Layton?" 

He  looked  up  from  the  dish  from  which  he  was  helping 
Esther. 

"  I — er — scarcely  noticed,"  he  said.  "  I  hadn't  much  of 
an  appetite." 

"  How  ungrateful  of  you!"  said  Esther,  blithely,  as  she 
pretended  to  make  an  onslaught  on  her  omelette. 

"  Did  you  go  straight  to  bed,  Esther,  after  we  had  gone?" 
asked  Miss  Worcester. 

Esther  coloured:  the  colour  had  been  coming  and  going  in 
a  hectic  flush  since  she  had  entered  the  room.  Oh,  if  she 
had  gone  to  bed,  if  she  had  not  yielded  to  temptation  and 
gone  to  that  hateful  hay-making! 

I  got  up  and  strolled  about  for  a  time,1'  she  said 


J64  LOVE,   THE  TYBAST. 

"  It  was  so  hot  in  my  room.     Didn't  yon  think  tne  Braces'  o 
grand  place,  Mr.  Layton?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  indifferently.  "  But  it  will  not  com- 
pare with  the  Towers." 

"  There  is  no  place  in  the  county  so  large  and  important 
as  the  Towers,"  remarked  Miss  Worcester,  with  dignity. 

"  That's  of  course!"  said  Esther.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  you 
didn't  find  the  party  slow." 

"  It  was  not  at  all  slow,"  said  Miss  Worcester.  "  Mr. 
Layton  was  kind  enough  to  sing,  and  he  sang  beautifully,  as 
usual.  Lady  Mary  assured  us  she  had  never  heard  anything 
like  it  out  of  the  opera.  It  was  a  great  success." 

"  Thanks  to  Miss  Worcester's  accompaniment,"  murmured 
Selby  Layton,  in  his  sweet  voice,  and  with  a  grateful  bow  to- 
wards her. 

"  So  you  both  covered  yourselves  with  laurels,"  said  Esther, 
absently.  "  I  am  sorry  I  was  not  there  to  witness  your  tri- 
umph." 

Selby  Layton  glanced  at  her  covertly.     He  had  noticed  the 
dark  shadows  under  her  eyes,  the  hectic  flush,  the  preoccu- 
pied, absent  manner,  and  he  was  asking  himself  what  had 
happened.     Every  change  of  mood  in  Esther  was  of  import- 
ance to  him.     Hitherto  she  had  always  been  self -possesses 
and  mistress  of  herself;  but  this  morning  she  seemed  di& 
traught  and  uncertain.     Apparently  absorbed  in  his  break- 
fast, he  watched  her  narrowly. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  to-day?"  she  asked,  presently, 
as  she  put  her  plate  aside.  "  What  would  you  like  to  do, 
Mr  Layton? — ride  " — Selby  Layton  winced  inwardly,  though 
his  smile  did  not  waver — "  or  drive  or  walk?  Anything  will 
suit  me,  so  that  we  get  into  the  air.  I  have  a  craving  for  the 
air  to-day,  the  consequence  of  my  headache  last  night." 

"  I  am  going  to  spend  the  morning  in  the  library,"  said 
Miss  Worcester:  she  had  imposed  upon  herself  the  task  of 
making  a  catalogue,  and  was  full  of  the  importance  of  ';he 
undertaking. 

"  Shall  we  take  a  walk?"  suggested  Selby  Layton.  "  Only 
last  night  I  learned  that  there  was  a  ruined  abbey  or  chapel 
or  something  of  the  sort  on  the  estate.  Perhaps  you  would 
be  so  kind  as  to  act  as  cicerone,  Miss  Vancourt? 

Esther  looked  up  as  if  awakened  from  a  dream. 

"  Is  there?  Oh,  yes!  You  mean  the  Chapel  '  i  St.  Cecilia. 
A  very  appropriate  saint  for  your  devotions,  Mr.  Layton.  It 
is  at  Silworthv  Cross,  about  three  miles  from  here.  Let  OS 


LOVB,  THE  TYRANT.  165 

go,  by  aH  means.     We'll  take  Toby — or  would  yon  prefer  to 

\me  9,  dog-cart?" 

"  Ch,  let  us  have  Toby!"  said  Selby  Layton,  with  an  in 
slant  dread  of  a  fiery  animal  which  would  rear  or  bolt. 

"  All  right,"  said  Esther.  "  Will  you  order  Toby  and  the 
jingle,  aunt?  And  I'll  get  ready  at  once." 

A  strange  lassitude  fell  upon  her  as  she  went  up  to  her  room 
— a  lassitude  cause  by  the  feeling  that  nothing  could  ever 
again  interest  or  amuse  her,  or  seem  of  the  least  importance; 
that  the  future  was  like  a  blank  before  her — a  future  in 
which  she  had  only  to  live,  exist,  like  a  mere  vegetable. 

But  she  put  on  her  prettiest  hat  and  came  down  smiling 
and  almost  hilarious. 

"  I  warn  you  that  if  you  expect  much  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed," she  said  to  Selby  Layton,  as  he  helped  her  into  toe 
jingle.  "  I  believe  it  is  only  the  poorest  kind  of  ruin.  I've 
not  seen  it — I  haven't  seen  half  the  estate  yet — and  I've  a 
suspicion  we  shall  only  find  a  heap  of  stones.  My  idea  of  a 
ruin,  a  respectable  ruin,  is  a  towering  castle  covered  with  ivyr 
and  I  don't  think  St.  Cecilia's  Chapel  is  anything  like  so  dig- 
nified." 

"  It  will  not  mattei,"  he  said.  "  Whatever  it  may  be,  I 
shall  be  more  than  satisfied." 

He  gathered  the  reins  together,  and  gave  them  to  her  with 
that  air  of  devotion  which,  exaggerated  though  it  was,  has  its 
effect  upon  women;  and  Toby,  after  an  interval  of  coaxing, 
was  induced  to  start.  As  she  drove  along,  Esther's  thoughts 
wandered  to — indeed,  were  fixed  upon — Jack  Gordon,  and  she 
almost  forgot  her  companion.  Why  had  he  preserve!,  her 
handkerchief;  why  had  he  clung  to  it,  even  lied,  about  it, 
while  he  was  engaged  to  Kate  Transom?  All  the  questions, 
the  problems,  which  had  rendered  her  night  sleepless,  rose 
and  tortured  her.  She  scarcely  heeded  whither  they  ware 
going,  and  she  did  not  know  that  Selby  Layton  was  watching 
her  absent,  dreamy  eyes  with  covert  intentness. 

"  I  think  we  turn  to  the  left  here,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
silence.  "  And  that  looks  like  a  ruin.  I  can  see  something 
like  a  tower  on  the  side  of  the  hill." 

Esther  awoke  from  her  reverie. 

"  Yes;  I  suppose  that  is  it,"  she  said,  with  simulated  in- 
terest. "  It's  pretty,  isn't  it?  I'm  glad  I've  got  an  historic 
ruin  on  the  premises." 

"  Yes;  you  seem  to  have  all  that  the  heart  cod 5.  desire, 
Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said,  softly.  "  What  shall  we  do  with 
the  pon¥?" 


166  WVE,  THE  TYBAUl 

ct  Ob,  3«at  tie  him  to  these  railings;  if  Toby  kas 
to  eat,  and  we're  not  too  long,  he'll  be  quiet." 

They  got  out  and  went  up  the  grass-grown  steps  to  the 
chapel.  Esther  looked  round  absently,  dreamily.  It  was  a 
romantic  and  delightful  scene.  The  chapel  had  been  built  by 
pious  hands  upon  the  brow  of  a  hill  overlooking  one  of  those 
valleys  or  coombes  which  make  the  county  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  fascinating  in  England;  and  there  was  more 
than  a  heap  of  stones  remaining  of  the  original  edifice. 

Esther  climbed  to  the  top  and  seated  herself  under  a  ruined 
window.  The  place  belonged  to  her,  was  part  of  the  Van- 
court  estate;  but  at  that  moment  she  was  thinking  that  she 
would  exchange  the  whole  thing,  every  inch  of  it,  for  Jack 
Gordon's  undivided  love. 

"  Very  picturesque,  isn't  it?"  said  Selby  Layton,  throwing 
himself  down  beside  her.     "  The  modern  parvenue,  the  man 
who  has  made  his  money  in  soap  and  candles,  would  give  all 
he  is  worth  to  possess  this.     You  are  very  fortunate,  Miss 
Vancourt." 

"  Am  I?"  said  Esther,  with  a  stifled  sigh. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  He  looked  at  her  with  covert  attention. 
She  still  seemed  sad  and  preoccupied.  Selby  Layton  had 
made  a  study  of  women,  and  though  he  did  not  know  so  much 
about  them  as  he  thought,  he  knew  a  great  deal.  He  knew, 
for  instance,  that  women  are  slaves  to  moods,  and  that  in 
some  moods  they  will  do  and  say  things  at  which  they  would 
shy  under  an  ordinary  frame  of  mind.  Was  Esther  in  such 
a  mood  that  he  might  venture  to  make  this  grand  coup  ?  He 
would  feel  his  way  carefully. 

"  What  more  can  you  desire?"  he  said  in  his  soft  voice  and 
with  a  musical  little  laugh.  "  You  have  youth  and  beauty— 
forgive  me! — but  the  fact  is  so  patent  that  one  may  venture 
to  speak  if  it  as  one  speaks  of  the  loveliness  of  the  sky  or  the 
flowers — you  come  of  an  historic  race,  you  are  the  mistress  of 
Vancourt  Towers  and  immense  wealth." 

Esther  made  a  slight  and  impatient  movement  of  her  hand. 

"  AD  of  which  will  not  bring  happiness,"  she  said,  with  a 
faint  sigh,  her  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  view  beneath  her— 
the  view  in  which  nearly  everything,  land,  houses,  river,  and 
lake  belonged  to  her.  "  Every  Sunday  the  clergyman  tells 
us  that  wealth  does  not  mean  felicity — and  we  hear  it  and 
smile  to  ourselves — we  don't  believe  it.  I  used  to  smile  a 
little  bitterly  when  I  was  slaving  at  music-lessons,  in  the  old 
days,  which  seem  so  far  away,  though  they  are  so  recent.  I 
used  t»  think  *  It  is  all  very  well  for  wealthy  people  to  talk 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT.  167 

abont  the  vanity  of  riches;  but  they  don't  know  what  it  is  to 
be  poor;  to  eat  cold  mutton,  and  be  glad  to  get  it;  to  wear 
ehaoby  clothes,  and  have  to  ride  in  'buses,  or  very  often 
walk.'  But  I  understand  now;  one  gets  used  to  dainty  food, 
sump'  uous  apparel  and  a  big  house,  and — and  there  is  some- 
thing else — something  one  wants  above  and  beyond  these 
things." 

"  I  think  I  know!"  he  said,  softly.  "  And  I  was  going  to 
add  to  the  list  of  your  possessions:  *  The  love  of  all  around 
you.'  You  have  won  the  hearts  of  all  your  people,  Miss  Van- 
court;  I  hear  your  praises  wherever  I  go." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Esther,  dreamily. 

But  the  thought  flashed  through  her  mind  that  there  was 
One  love  for  which  she  would  willingly  barter  all  the  rest. 

"  But  I  know  so  well  what  is  lacking,"  he  said,  checking  a 
sigh.  "  I  can  sympathise  with  you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  You?  I  thought  you  were  one  of  the  happiest  of  men," 
she  said.  "  You,  too,  are  young,  and  if  you  are  not  rich,  I 
suppose  you  are  rich  euough;  and  your  voice — what  was  that 
you  were  singing  the  other  night?  It  haunted  me  for  hours 
afterwards.  '  Oh,  let  me  walk  in  lowly  ways!'  or  something 
like  it,  was  the  title." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  that  old  English  pastoral,"  he  said;  and  he 
began  to  sing  it,  very  softly,  very  sweetly. 

Sal  by  Layton's  voice  was  one  of  the  few  that  sound  well  in 
the  open  air;  and  he  put  all  the  expression  of  which  he  was 
capable  into  the  simple  words  and  melody. 

Esther  listened  with  rapt  attention.  Both  words  and  music 
harmonised  with  her  mood. 

"  Not  happy  with  such  a  voice!"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
laugh.  "  That  is  downright  ingratitude.  What  more  can 
you  want?" 

"  A  great  deal!  So  much  that  I  dare  not  think  of  it,  much 
less  speak  of  it,"  he  said.  "  And  yet  I  was  happy  enough 
until  a — a  few  weeks  ago.  I  envied  no  man,  I  was  contented 
with  my  lot." 

"  And  what  has  happened  to  make  you  disappointed?" 
asked  Esther. 

"  The  birth  of  a  desire  which  I  feel  can  never  be  satisfied!" 
he  said,  after  a  pause,  and  with  beautifully  feigned  reluct- 
ance. 

"  Why  should  it  not?"  she  said,  half-absently.  "  Ycu  are 
ambitious,  I  suppose?  Well,  you  are  a  man  and  it  is  easy,  at 
any  rate  it  is  not  impossible,  for  a  man  to  gratify  his  anibi- 


168  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

tion.  If  I  were  a  man  and  wanted  anything  ?ery  badly  1 
would  not  rest  content  with  simply  wanting  it;  I  would  strain 
every  nerve,  I  would  never  rest  until  I  had  got  it.  Why, 
that's  the  advantage  you  men  have  over  us  poor  women.  We 
can  only  sigh  and  cultivate  resignation." 

"  But  if  the  thing  one  desires  rests  upon  another?5"  he  said, 
glancing  at  her.  "If  one  felt  utterly  powerless,  uuable  to 
even  utter  one's  wish?  Ah,  then  one  cannot  help  being  un- 
happy, unhappy  with  the  infinite  longing  of.  despair!  Miss 
Vancourt,  not  all  the  wealth  in  the  world,  the  highest  rank, 
Jie  greatest  honor,  could  count  with  me,  without  the  posses- 
sion of  this  one  thing  I  want.  And  yet  it  is  because  I  have 
neither  wealth  nor  rank  that  I  cannot  speak  of  my  heart's 
desire." 

Esther  had  not  been  listening  very  intently,  but  something 
in  his  voice  rather  than  in  his  words  caught  her  attention 
She  looked  at  him  with  a  faint  uneasiness. 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  to  be  going  back,"  she  said. 

He  sighed. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  The  happiest  moments  are  alwayfc 
the  most  fleeting.  Will  you  give  me  five  minutes  longer? 
This  may  be  the  last  time  I  shall  see  Vancourt  for  a  long 
periol,  perhaps  for  ever." 

"  Why?"  she  asked.  "Are  you  going  away — abroad?  I 
hope  we  shall  see  you  very  often,  Mr.  La}  ton." 

He  shook  his  head.  She  had  spoken  in  a  kindly  fashion, 
as  if  she  meant  it.  Should  he  venture?  His  heart  beat  fast, 
and  his  voice  had  a  genuine  tremor  in  it,  as  he  saiu: 

"  Yes;  1  think  1  am  going  abroad — for  a  long  time;  I  may 
settle  there.  It  is  better  that  I  should  go,  that  at  any  rate  I 
should  not  come  to  the  Towers  again — better  for  me.  Ah! 
Miss  Vaneourt,  can  you  not  guess  the  reason?  1  know  that  it 
is  madness  for  me  to  speak,  but— but  1  cannot  help  it.  Can 
you  not  guess  the  reason?  Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that 
I  have  a  heart  in  my  bosom,  and  that  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  see  so  much  of  you  without — " 

Esther  half  rose. 

"  Let  us  go  now,"  she  said,  her  fji-"o  growing  suddenly 
paler,  her  brows  coming  together;  bat,  '  put  out  his  hand 
very  gently  and  imploringly. 

"  Ah,  but  listen  to  me  now,  now  that  I  have  been  mad 
enough  to  begin!  Are  you  so  surprised  that  I — love  y  u:' 
No,  surely  not  surprised,  though  I  can  understand  that  you 
should  be  offended  at  my  sptaking  of  my  love." 

Esther  clucked  at  the  grass  nervouslv.    No  woman  is 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  169 

offended  witu  »  man  for  telling  her  that  he  loves  her;  and 
there  was  no  anger  in  her  heart  against  Selby  Layton,  though 
she  was  surprised. 

"I  am  not  offended,"  she  said,  "but  I  did  not  know — 
guess.  Oh,  do  not  say  any  more,  please!'* 

"  I  will  not.  I  obey  you.  It  is  the  least  I  can  do  to  atone 
for  my  presumption.  Yes,  I  am  not  so  foolish  as  not  to  know 
thct  such  presumption  is  almost  unpardonable.  I,  poor,  of 
no  account,  to  speak  of  love  to  you  !" 

His  humility  struck  the  chord  he  wanted. 

"Poveity  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  said.  "  If  I 
were  a  man,  and — and  cared  for  a  woman,  I  would  not  be 
•shamed  to  tell  her,  however  poor  I  might  be." 

The  colour  rose  to  his  face,  and  he  leant  forward  eagerly* 

"  Then — Miss  Vancourt — Esther — may  I,  dare  I  hope — ''' 

He  was  unwise  enough  to  try  and  take  her  hand;  but  he 
saw  his  mistake  as  she  drew  it  away,  not  sharply,  but  safely 
beyond  his  reach. 

"  No,  no,  I  did  not  say,  did  not  mean — !"  she  said,  with 
a  catch  of  her  breath. 

"  But  if  I  may  presume  to  speak,  to  tell  you  of  my  great 
love,  will  you  not  give  me  an  answer?"  he  said,  in  his  sweet- 
est, most  caressing  voice.  "  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul;  I  have  loved  you  since  the  first  hour  I  saw  yoa — shall  I 
ever  forget  it! — but  all  the  time  I  have  told  myself  that  my 
love,  great  as  it  is,  was  hopeless.  Ah,  if  I  might  cherish  the 
faintest  hope  that  you — " 

"  I — I—do  not—I  cannot  say  what  you  wish  me  to  say," 
she  said. 

She  spoke  very  gently,  and  with  a  note  of  pity  in  her  voice 
—a  dangerous  note  when  a  woman  is  saying  "  No  "  to  an 
avowal  of  love.  But  Esther  was  inexperienced.  This  was  the 
first  man  who  had  told  her  in  so  many  words  that  he  loved 
.her;  and  her  own  heart  was  so  sore,  so  full  of  aching  pain 
that  she  could  not  help  but  pity  him,  for  was  he  not  suffering 
as  she  was  suffering? 

"  I  did  not  ask,  did  not  expect  so  great  a  thing  as  that  you 
should  love  me,"  he  murmured.  "  1  know  how  unworthy  I 
dm — unworthy  in  every  way;  but  let  my  love  plead  for  me, 
\t  you  do  not  dislike  me,  if  you  do  not  think  it  presumptu- 
ous of  me,  give  me  a  little  hope  that  in  time  I  may  win  your 
love — at  least  let  me  try  and  do  so." 

He  was  terribly  in  earnest — Vancourt  Towers,  the  Vancourt 
money,  and  Esther  herself,  were  the  prize  for  which  he  was 
striving.  Was  he  going  to  win?  His  breath  cams  fast,  and 


170  XiOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

his  eyes  gleamed  as  he  gazed  at  her.  Even  a  more  experi- 
enced girl  than  Esther  might  have  been  deceived,  and  felt 
convinced  that  it  was  love,  pure,  disinterested  love  which  he 
was  pleading. 

She  was  greatly  troubled.  By  luck  rather  than  judgment 
he  had  caught  her  in  the  mood  most  favourable  to  his  pur- 
pose. While  he  had  been  speaking,  Esther  had  been  thinking 
of  Jack  Gordon.  Had  she  by  any  chance  let  him  see  last 
night  that  she  cared  for  him?  Her  face  flushed  with  shame 
at  the  thought.  If  so,  if  she  had  betrayed  herself,  then  by 
marrying  Selby  Layton  she  should  soothe  her  own  pride. 
Many  a  girl  has  committed  the  egregious  folly  of  marrying 
from  pique,  and  it  was  pique  that  made  Esther  hesitate  in 
giving  Selby  Layton  a  decisive  "  No." 

Then,  again,  she  was  not  insensible  of  the  undoubted  charm 
of  the  man's  manner.  His  voice  was  like  a  strain  of  music, 
and  had  never  been  sweeter,  more  impressive  than  now  as  it 
spoke  of  his  love  for  her. 

She  would  have  to  marry  some  one  or  other — the  mistresa 
of  Vancourt  Towers  could  not  remain  single — as  well  marry 
Selby  Layton  as  another.  It  did  not  matter  whom  she  ac- 
cepted; she  would  never  love  any  one  but —  The  red  shame 
rose  to  her  face  again.  If  she  married  Selby  Layton  she 
would  be  compelled  to  forget  the  other  man;  it  would  be  her 
duty  to  do  so,  and  she  would  do  her  duty  by  her  husband, 
whomsoever  he  might  be.  If  she  were  still  a  poor  music- 
teacher  she  might  remain  a  spinster  for  the  rest  of  her  life — • 
how  dreary  a  vista  it  seemed  to  her  at  that  moment! — but  she 
was  the  owner  of  that  vast  place.  Already  she  had  felt  the 
need  of  a  help-mate,  a  partner  and  adviser — it  was  because  of 
this  need  that  she  relied  so  much  upon  Jack  Gordon — and 
Selby  Layton  would  fill  the  position  very  well.  And  he  loved 
her:  she  would  make  one  man  happy,  at  any  rate. 

He  watched  the  troubled  face,  never  more  beautiful  than 
at  this  moment,  as  she  sat  leaning  her  chin  on  her  hand,  the 
glorious  grey  eyes,  infinitely  sad,  fixed  dreamily  before  her  as 
if  she  had  forgotten  him.  Of  what  was  she  thinking?  he 
asked  himself  anxiously.  Was  she  going  to  say  "  Yes,"  or 
"  No?" 

"  Will  you  not  speak  to  me?"  he  murmured,  imploringly. 
"  Will  you  not,  let  me  hope?  I  ask  for  nothing  more.  I  do 
not  expect  you  to  bind  yourself  in  any  way.  I  will  leave  you 
free,  quite  free.  I  only  plead  that  you  should  grant  me  the 

frivilege  of  trying  to  win  your  love.   It  is  a  great  deal  to  ask, 
know*  but — afat   be  merciful,  Esther  1    lienxeuaber  that, 


LOVE,  THE  TYRiirr.  171 

though  I  am  poor  ana  in  every  way  unworthy,  I  love  you  as 
devotedly  as  ever  man  loved  woman;  and  that  I  am  content 
to  wait  until  you  can  return  something  of  that  love." 

She  shook  her  head  gently.  She  was  very  pale,  and  her 
lips  aud  brows  were  drawn  as  with  pain. 

"  I — I  cannot.     I  am  sorry.     I  shall  never  love — " 

She  faltered  and  turned  her  head  away  for  a  moment. 

He  took  advantage  of  the  pause. 

"Forgive  me!  but  that  cannot  be  true!  You — you,  who 
are  so  tender-hearted,  so  full  of  sweet  womanliness,  not  love! 
It  is  because  I  know  that  you  are  capable  of  a  love  far  tran- 
scending that  of  the  commonplace  woman  that  I  am  in  such 
deadly  earnest,  so  eager." 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said,  rising.  "  I  cannot  think—I  did 
not  know;  guess — I  am  bewildered." 

He  was  far  too  clever  not  to  seize  the  moment,  and  rising 
on  one  knee,  he  caught  her  hand. 

"  Only  a  hops — 1  ask  no  more,"  he  said.  "  You  will  nofc 
refuse  ine  bhat?  Oh,  have  some  pity  on  me!" 

She  looked  down  at  him,  still  half  dreamily,  confusedly; 
but  she  did  not  withdraw  her  hand.  She  was,  indeed,  scarcely 
conscious  that  he  held  it;  but  as  with  a  low  cry  of  gratitude 
and  joy,  he  was  about  to  press  his  lips  to  it,  she  drew  it  away 
from  him. 

"  No,  I  did  not  say — I  gave  no  promise!"  She  drew  herself 
away  and  looked  at  him  steadily.  "  1  am  to  be  quite  free — 
you  will  not  try  and  persuade — urge  me?" 

"  No!"  he  said,  springing  to  his  feet  and  gazing  at  her 
with  a  magnificent  assumption  of  unselfish  devotion.  **  Nc* 
You  shall  be  quite  free.  I  will  not  speak  to  you  again  until  I 
see  some  sign  of  yielding,  of  permission.  Forgive  me  if  I 
seem  too  eager — too  happy.  The  faint  hope  you  have  given 
me —  But  I  will  not  speak  of  it  again." 

Esther  went  down  the  broken  steps,  and  he  followed  her  in 
silence.  If  she  had  chanced  to  look  back,  she  would  have 
been  startled  by  the  exultation,  the  triumph  which  shone  in 
his  eyes  and  curved  his  lips. 

He  knew  that  the  woman  who  hesitates  is  lost,  that  the 
man  who  persuades  a  girl  to  give  him  hope,  wins  in  the  long 
run,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  The  glimpses  of  the  Towers 
through  the  trees  intoxicated  him;  he  should  be  master  there 
before  long. 

They  found  Toby  placidly  nibbling  the  long  grass  by  the 
roadside,  and  Selby  Layton  wt  uld  have  helped  Father  into 
the  jingle,  bat  she  sprang  in  before  he  could  offer  her  bis 


172  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT* 

hand,  and  they  drove  off.  He  was  too  cunning  to  permit  gr» 
embarrassing  silence,  and  he  talked  about  the  wild  flowery 
the  birds,  everything  that  presented  itself;  but  though  he  was 
careful  to  confine  himself  to  the  commonplace,  he  threw  a 
note  of  tenderness,  of  reverence  into  his  voice  which  Esther 
could  not  resent — though  it  jarred  upon  her. 

"  Til  walk  up  this,"  he  said,  as  they  came  to  a  hill;  and  he 
got  out  and  picked  some  of  the  gentian  and  meadow-sweet. 
Esther  drove  on  slowly,  and  he  was  so  absorbed  in  gathering 
the  flowers  which  he  meant  to  lay  upon  the  seat  beside  her 
without  a  word,  that  he  did  not  notice  a  man  who  was  lean- 
ing on  a  gate  a  little  ahead  of  him.  The  man  was  watching 
him  with  a  sinister  smile,  and  presently,  when  Selby  Lay  ton 
was  nearly  up  to  him,  laughed  quietly  and  sardonically. 

Selby  Lay  ton  started  and  looked  up,  then,  as  his  eyes  fell 
on  the  man,  the  colour  left  his  face  and  he  stood  as  if  turned 
to  stone. 

"  Denzil!"  he  gasped. 

Denzil  nodded,  his  elbows  hitched  on  the  top  rail  of  the 
gate,  the  sardonic  smile  making  of  his  face  one  dark  sneer. 

"  How  are  you,  Selby?"  he  said.  "  Rather  startled  you, 
didn't  I?  Didn't  like  to  speak  before  for  fear  of  spoiling  the 
picture;  you  looked  so  sweet  and  innocent  gathering  the 
pretty  flowers!" 

St;lby  Lay  ton  glanced  at  the  jingle,  and  then  at  the  sneer- 
ing face  with  an  expression  on  nis  own  in  which  loathing  and 
fear  were  nicely  combined. 

"  'What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked  between 
his  set  teeth. 

Denzil  laughed. 

**  Admiring  the  beauties  of  nature,  animal  and  inanimate, 
my  dear  Selby." 

"  SpeaK  lower  you — you — beast!  She'll — she'll  hear  you!" 
said  Selby  Lay  ton,  glancing  at  the  jingle  which  had  come  to 
a  stand-still  at  the  top  of  the  hill." 

"•  Oh,  no,  she  won't.  And  if  she  did,  what  matters?  Why 
shouldn't  Miss  Vancourt  witness  the  meeting  between  two 
friends?" 

Selby  Layton  drew  nearer  to  him,  and,  fighting  for  self- 
possession,  forced  a  smile. 

"  You've  an  unpleasant  way  of — of  startling  your  friends, 
my  dear  Denzil.  I'm  afraid  I  can't  stop — Miss  Vancourt  if. 
waiting.  What  is  it  you  want?  You  have  followed  me  dowa 
here  with  an  object,  I  suppose?" 

"'  Tracked,  is  the  word,"  said  DenziL     "  With  aa  obioct 


HOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  173 

Shall  I  join  you?    You  can  introduce  me  to  your  lady-friend. 

She's  pretty,  more  than  pretty!" 

Selby  Lay  ton  ground  his  teeth. 

'*  I'll  meet  you  later,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  stay  and  talk  tc 
you  now,  and  you  know1  it.  Meet  me  by  the  boat-house  on. 
the  lake — you  can  find  it  easily — at  ten  o'clock  to-night." 

"  Humph!"  said  Denzil,  doubtfully.  "  Why  shouldn't  <. 
join  you  now?  Why  should  I  sneak  out  to  meet  you  at 
night?" 

Selby  Lay  ton  smiled,  his  lip  twisted  in  its  ugliest  fashion. 

"  Because  you  would  ruin  both  of  us,"  he  said.  "  You 
see  I'm  frank  with  you.  At  ten — by  the  boat-house.  Take 
this  cigarette — and  a  light.  At  ten," 

"  It's  worth  something  to  see  you  in  a  blue  funk,  Selby," 
fiaid  Deuzil,  laughing;  but  he  took  the  cigarette  and  lit  it, 
"  Well,  I'll  humour  you.  I'll  be  there;  but  by  the  Lord  if 
you  play  any  tricks!" 

Selby  Layton  shook  his  head,  and  said  aloud: 

"  Good-day  to  you!"  and  walked  on,  quickly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  keeping  you,  he  said  to  Esther. 
"  A  man— <lid  you  happen  to  see  him?" 

Esther  nodded. 

"  Yes;  what  an  unpleasant-looking  man!  What  did  he 
want?" 

"  Onlv  some  tobacco,"  he  replied.  "  He  was  asking  his 
Way  to  Hunt sh aw,  and  I  was  trying  to  tell  him;  that  is  what 
kspt  me.  Please  forgive  me!" 

'  Was  he  a  tramp?    He  scarcely  looked  like  one." 

*'  Oh,  no;  I  think  nof ;  a  tourist  or  something  of  the  kind, 
I  should  say,"  said  Selby  Layton,  carelessly,  as  he  laid  the 
flowers  on  the  seat  beside  her  and  glanced  at  her  with  tender 
devotion. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

JACK  did  not  attach  much  importance  to  Mrs.  Martini 
mysterious  stranger,  for  he  knew  how  slight  a  thing  upset  her 
nerves;  but  he  took  a  look  round,  before  turning  in,  as  he 
had  promised  to  do.  There  was,  however,  no  one  about,  and 
he  went  home  to  the  cottage  and  wearily  completed  hia 
packing, 

•It  was  simple  enough,  and  only  one  thing  bothered  him: 
the  pocket-book  containing  the  notes  and  the  marriage  cer- 
tificate which  he  had  picked  up  during  his  pursuit  of  Denzil 
the 


174  LOVE,  THE  TYKAOT. 

The  possession  of  this  property  had  often  caused  him  a 
troubled  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  he  had  not  had  an  easy  con- 
science over  it.  The  pocket-book  and  its  contents  belonged 
to  some  one,  and  he  ought  to  have  placed  it  in  the  hands  of 
the  police,  or  advertised  it;  but  he  was  convinced  that  Denzil 
had  dropped  it,  and  he  was  reluctant  to  let  such  a  clue  go  out 
of  his  hands,  for  he  felt  that  some  day  or  other  he  should 
meet  the  scoundrel  again  and  square  accounts  with  him. 

To-night  he  stood  with  the  pocket-book  in  his  hand  ponder- 
ing  over  it.  To  carry  so  large  a  sum  with  him  would  be 
madness,  for  he  might  be  stricken  with  illness  during  his 
tramping  in  search  of  work;  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not 
like  to  entrust  it  to  any  one  to  keep.  Suddenly  an  idea  oc- 
curred to  him,  a  very  natural  idea  to  a  man  who  had  been  in, 
the  habit  of  hiding  his  valuables  from  the  eyes  of  the  roughs 
and  thieves  of  an  Australian  camp. 

He  got  an  empty  tin,  placed  the  pockeb-book  in  it,  and, 
carefully  lifting  the  hearth-stone,  deposited  the  tin  under- 
neath, replacing  the  stone  as  carefully  over  the  treasure,  so 
that  no  one  would  be  likely  to  see  that  it  had  been  moved. 

Then  he  went  to  bed.  But  not  to  sleep.  Every  time  he 
closed  his  eyes  he  saw  the  lovely  face  of  the  girl  he  loved, 
heard  her  voice;  a  strong  man's  passion  held  him  in  thrall, 
and  tortured  him  with  its  infinite  longing  and  infinite  despair. 
There  is  no  tyrant  so  merciless  as  Love,  and  Jack  was  under 
its  iron  heel.  Every  now  and  then  the  fact  that  he  was  not 
only  leaving  Esther  bufc  Vancourt — his  own  Vancourt — flashed 
upon  him;  but  it  was  the  parting  from  Esther,  the  thought 
that  he  might  never  see  her  again,  that  outweighed  every 
other  consideration. 

He  rose  in  the  morning  with  the  lassitude  and  weariness 
resulting  from  such  a  night,  and  went  round  the  farm  in  a 
melancholy  mood.  It  was  wonderful  how  fond  he  had  become 
of  the  farm,  and  not  only  of  the  place  but  of  the  people.  He 
had  intended  telling  the  Martins  at  breakfast- time  that  he 
was  going  that  night;  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  so 
in  face  of  Nettie's  loving  greeting.  The  parting  with  the 
child  would  cut  him  to  the  heart. 

"  How  pale  'oo  look,  Jack!"  she  said,  as  he  dropped  into 
the  chair  beside  her,  and  she  put  up  her  face  for  his  morning 
kiss.  "  Mother  saus  'oo  works  too  hard.  Does  'oo?  B»t 
never  mind;  p'r'iips  'oo'll  break  'oos  leg,  like  father,  and 
have  a  long  rest.  Wasn't  it  splendid  in  the  hay  yesterday!  J 
wish  it*  was  to  tome  to-day,  and  that  Miss  VancojOfc  was  doing 


,  THE  TYEAHfE  175 

to  play  wiv  us.  She  is  a  tind  and  pretty  laay,  isn't  she, 
Jack?" 

"  She  is,"  said  Jack,  succinctly. 

"  And  I  think  she  likes  'oo  very  much,  Jack;  for  I  saw  her 
looking  at  'oo  yesterday  as  if  she  did,  an'  she  said  to  me  how 
strong  you  was — " 

"  Nettie,  go  on  with  your  breakfast,  and  let  Mr.  Gordon 
eat  his,"  said  her  mother. 

**  It  isn't  me,"  said  Nettie,  shrewdly.  "  Jack  isn't  eating 
anything,  is  'oo,  Jack?  Doesn't  'oo  want  any  bekfast?" 

"  I'm  a  little  off  colour  this  morning,  I'm  afraid,  Nettie,'* 
said  Jack.  "  Too  much  ale  last  night,  I  expect,  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin. How  is  Martin  this  morning?" 

As  he  asked  the  question  Martin  limped  down  the  stairs. 

"  Now  it's  all  right,  mother!"  he  said,  as  Mrs.  Martin 
began  to  remonstrate.  "  I'm  tired  of  being  mewed  up  there 
like  an  old  hen  in  a  coop,  and  I'm  sound  enough  to  hop  about 
agen,  ain't  I,  Mr.  Gordon?  I'm  a-going  round  the  farm  a 
bit  to-day,  let  the  old  doctor  say  what  he  may.  It  won't  do 
me  no  harm;  anyways,  I'm  a-going  to  risk  it." 

This  was  a  good  opportunity  for  Jack  to  inform  them  of 
his  intended  and  sudden  departure;  but  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  it  before  the  child,  who  had  slid  on  to  his  knee 
and  rested  against  him.  Later  in  the  day  would  do,  he  told 
himself,  with  the  man's  desire  to  avoid  a  "  scene." 

"  I  suppose  you  didn't  see  anything  of  that  strange  man 
last  night,  Mr.  Gordon?"  Mrs.  Martin  asked,  as  he  rose  to 
go. 

"  Eh?  Oh,  no,  no!"  He  had  quite  forgotten  him. 
"  There  was  no  one  about,  and  I  expect  he's  many  miles 
away  by  this  time,  Mrs  Martin.  If  you've  made  up  your 
mind  to  hobble  round,  Martin,  you  had  better  come  with  me 
so  that  1  can  give  you  a  hand." 

Though  Vancourt  was  so  small  a  place,  it  was  not  strange 
that  Jack  had  not  met  with  Denzil,  for  that  gentleman  had 
not  put  up  at  the  village  inn,  but  at  a  smaller  and  less  fre- 
quented one  about  two  miles  out.  He  was  not  fond  of  put- 
ting himself  in  evidence  at  any  time,  and  he  had  pood  reasons 
for  not  showing  himself  too  much  near  the  Towers.  He  did 
not  want  to  drive  Selby  Layton  into  too  tight  a  corner,  and 
his  request  to  be  introduced  to  Esther  was  merely  a  piece  of 
bluff.4 

After  Selby  Layton  had  left  him,  Denzil  lounged  slowly 
back  to  the  Black  Crow,  as  the  tumble-down  little  inn  wai 
Galled,  and  baying  eaten  a  midday  meal  of  the  usual  country 


17€  WWE,  THE  TYRAST. 

fore—  eggs  and  bacon—  took  his  glasb  of  ale  and  a  pipe  in** 
the  porch,  and  smoked  and  drank  with  the  comfortable  antici- 
pation of  a  prosperous  future.  That  Selby  Layton  would 
meet  him  and  come  to  his  terms  he  was  convinced;  how  could 
he  do  otherwise?  As  he  thought  of  his  victim  and  his  help- 
lessness, a  cruel  smile  crossed  nis  sinister  face,  and  once  or 
twice  he  laughed,  the  harsh  laugh  of  malignant  triumph. 

He  sat  and  smoked  and  drank  and  slept  until  nearly  even- 
ing, then  he  rose  and  stretched  himself  and  sauntered  down 
the  road  towards  the  village.  There  were  very  few  persona 
abou!.,  and  he  was  tempted  to  prolong  his  stroll  —  the  time 
hung  rather  heavily  on  his  hands  —  and  he  had  almost  reached 
the  row  of  dilapidated  cottages,  when  Transom  came  out 
from  his  and  walked  towards  him. 

Denzil  was  on  the  point  of  turning  back,  but  changed  hia 
mind  and  sauntered  on  with  his  half  -impudent  swagger,  and 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  The  two  men  advanced  towards 
each  other,  Transom  with  his  head  hung  down  as  usual;  then, 
suddenly,  he  looked  up,  saw  Denzil,  and  as  suddenly  stopped 
dead  short  and  uttered  a  low  cry  of  surprise  and  fear. 

Denzil  also  started,  and  regarded  Transom  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  then,  with  an  oath,  he  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"  What,  Hick?" 

Transom  was  as  white  as  if  he  were  gazing  at  a  ghost,  and 
though  his  lips  moved,  no  word  was  audible.  Denzil  eyed 
him  with  a  sardonic  amusement  which  yet  had  something  of 
uneasiness  in  it. 

"  Who  the  devil  would  have  expected  to  see  you  here!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"  I  —  I  live  here,"  said  Transom,  glancing  round  him  nerv- 
ously. "  What  are  you  doing  here?  Hush!  There's  some 
one  coming!  You  mustn't  be  seen.  My  God!  it  means 
death!" 

Denzil  eyed  him  intently. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Why  shouldn't  I  be  here?  I'm 
safe  enough;  no  one  knows  me  but  you." 

"  You're  wrong,"  muttered  Transom,  hoarsely,  wiping  the 
sweat  from  his  face.  "  I  tell  you  you're  in  danger  —  yon 
couldn't  have  come  to  a  worse  place!  Here;  come  inside! 
No,  wait!" 

He  went  back  to  the  cottage,  and  opening  the  door,  looked 
in. 


was  doing  some  washing,  and  he  held  the  door  so 
that  she  could  not  see  his  face  as  she  looked  round. 
"  Kate."  he  said,  clearing  his  throat  and  trvina  to  speak 


IttVE,  THE  TYBANT.  177 

earelessly,  *  just  go  to  Martin's  and  borrow  a  heuging-hook 
for  me,  will  you?" 

"  Won't  it  do  when  I've  finished,  father?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  it  won't,"  he  retorted.     "  Go  at  once,  will  you?" 

Kate  wiped  her  hands  and  caught  up  her  sun-bonnet,  an<* 
went  out  the  back  way;  and  Transom,  waiting  until  she  had 
disappeared,  signed  to  Denzil  to  enter.  He  closed  and  even 
bolted  the  door,  and  then  sank  into  a  chair  and  gazed  at  the 
tail  figure  and  dark  face  with  a  gloomy  stare,  in  which  fear 
and  amazement  still  struggled  for  mastery. 

"  So  this  is  your  place,  is  it,  Mick?"  said  Denzil,  seating 
aimseif  on  the  table,  and  swinging  his  leg.  "  You've  come 
back  and  settled  down,  have  you?  Well,  you're  right,  and 
you  seem  to  be  pretty  snug.  Married — children?" 

"  A  daughter,"  said  Transom,  mechanically.  "  She  was 
here  just  now — she  might  have  seen  you." 

Denzil  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  if  she  did?  There's  nothing  in  her  father  meeting 
an  old  pal,  is  there?  She  doesn't  know  where  they  mec  be- 
fore, or  how  they  parted.  You  fool,  you  haven't  told  her— 
any  one?"  he  broke  out,  threateningly. 

Transom  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  no!  I  haven't  told  any  one!"  he  said,  hoarsely.  '*  Is 
it  likely  I  should?  It  is  isn't  that!" 

"  What  is  it,  then,  that  puts  you  in  such  a  funk?"  asked 
Denzil,  contemptuously.  "  Who's  to  know  me  here,  except- 
ing yourself?  Who's  to  know  that  honest  old — whatever  your 
naaio  is,  whatever  you  call  yourself — was  one  of  the  Wally- 
Wally  gang,  and  ttiat  there's  a  price  on  our  heads,  eh?" 

Transom  rose  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror,  then  sank  down 
again. 

"  What  brought  you  here?"  he  said,  huskily.  "  Whatever 
it  was,  for  God's  sake  leave  the  place  at  once.  You're  not 
safe  here.  You're  known  to  some  one  else  besides  me." 

Denzil  laughed  scornfully. 

'"  Oil,  yes!    How  did  you  know  it?    You  mean — " 

"  The  man  Gordon,"  said  Transom.  "  The  man  whose 
ehum  you  shot — "  -f 

Denzil  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath,  his  face  white,  hia 
eyes  flashing  with  hate  and  apprehension. 

"Him!    It's  a  lie!" 

"  It's  the  truth,"  said  Transom,  sullenly.  "  Gordon's 
here  in  the  place — has  been  here  some  time." 

Now,  it  chanced  that  at  this  very  moment  Kate  came  back, 
She  had  remembered  that  she  had  left  a  saucepan  oa  the  fire* 


1"  tOTE,  TE£  TYRANT. 

and  that  it  wooLd  boil  over  while  she  was  away,  and  she  nafl 
run  back  to  take  it  off.  Her  hand  was  on  the  latch  of  the 
back  door,  when  she  heard  voices  and  Jack  Gordon's  name. 
Her  hand  fell  from  the  latch,  and  she  stood  breathless  and 
trembling. 

Who  was  with  her  father,  and  why  had  she  been  sent  out 
of  the  way?  And  why  were  they  talking  of  Mr.  Gordon? 
As  white  as  her  father  within  the  room,  she  leant  against  the 
frame  of  the  door  and  listened. 

"Gordon!"  muttered  Denzil,  as  he  sank  on  to  the  table 
again.  "  Curse  him!  this  is  the  second  time  he  has  crossed 
my  path!  By  God!  if  I  meet  him  it  shall  be  the  last!" 

"  More  likely  yours!"  said  Transom,  moodily  and  with 
an  air  of  conviction.  "  Remember,  he  knows  you;  he  saw 
you  without  your  mask.  There  was  murder  hi  his  eves  as  he 
looked  at  you  that  night."  He  shuddered.  "I  tell  you, 
Denzil,  that  if  he  sees  you.  it  will  be  all  up  with  you — " 

44  Or  with  him!"  broke  in  Denzil,  savagely.  4'  How  does 
he  come  to  be  here  in  this  place,  too?  Seems  as  if  I'd  dropped 
into  a  complete  nest  of  old  friends,"  he  added,  with  an  ugly 
sneer. 

Transom's  eyes  dropped  from  the  dark,  evil  ones. 

44  He's  staying — working  here.  What  does  it  matter? 
He's  here,  I  tell  you,  and  if  he  sees  you — and  he  may  do  so  at 
any  moment — you  are  a  last  man!  You  know  it!  You're 
not  in  the  bush  now;  you're  in  England — in  England,  where 
they  run  a  man  down  as  easily  as  a  hare.  You're  sitting  there 
with  the  rope  round  you  neck,  man!"  he  exclaimed,  hoarsely. 

Denzil  grew  pale  and  ground  his  teeth. 

"  Why  didn't  I  shoot  him  that  night?"  he  muttered.  "  It 
was  your  fault,  you  white-livered  hound!  You  stayed  my 
hand." 

"  I  draw  the  line  at  murder,  and  you'd  done  it  once  that 
night  already,"  said  Transom,  moodily,  and  with  a  sup- 
pressed shudder.  "  But  there's  no  good  talking  about  it — 
though  as  Heaven's  my  witness,  I  think  of  it  day  and  night. 
I  can't  forget  it.  What  business  has  brought  you  here  I 
don't  know,  and  I  don't  care;  but  whatever  it  is,  take  my 
advice,  for  God's  sake,  and  clear  out.  Leave  England — go 
and  bury  yourself  anywhere — out  of  his  sight!" 

Denzil  broke  in  with  a  laugh. 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  thinking  of  your  own  skin,  Master 
Mick,"  he  said.  "  We're  both  in  the  same  boat!" 

Transom  rose,  clutching  the  table  and  shaking  his 
baud  at  hi*  tormentor. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAJTE.  1    0 

"  00  yon  think  I  don'fc  know  it?  Do  you  thins  I'm  likely 
to  forget  it?  No!  I've  carried  the  burden,  an*  a  heavy  one 
it  is,  since  that  night —  But  there!  It's  a  waste  of  time  to 
talk  to  such  as  you.  You  don't  feel  no  remoise — " 

Danzil  laughed  contemptuously. 

"  Kemorse!     You  talk  like  a  baby!    It  was  a  fair  fight." 

"  It  was  murder!"  said  Transom;  then  suddenly  he  sprang 
at  Denzil  and  dragged  him  behind  the  front  door.  "  Hushi 
not  a  word!  The  man,  the  man  himself,  is  coming  up  the 
path!" 

The  two  men  crouched  behind  the  door,  a  knock  came, 
and  Jack's  voice  was  heard  calling: 

"  Transom!    Miss  Transom!    Any  one  in  there?" 

He  tried  the  door,  then  they  heard  him  going  down  the 
path.  Transom  leant  against  the  door  gasping  for  breath. 

"That  was  him!"  he  panted,  thickly.  "If  I  hadn't 
bolted  the  door —  Now,  don't  you  see  what  you've  got  to 
fear?" 

Denzil  stood  gnawing  at  his  moustache,  his  face  pallid,  his 
eyes  glowering. 

"  It's  my  luck!"  he  muttered.  "  Curse  him— I'd  like  to 
meet  him  face  to  face!  I'd  settle  accounts  with  him!  But 
you're  right,  Mick!"  he  said,  after  a  string  of  oaths.  "  It 
won't  do  to  risk  it.  I'll  clear  out.  I'll  go  to-night." 

"  Go  now — this  very  hour,"  said  Transom. 

Denzil  shook  his  head. 

"  Can't!  I've  got  some  business  to  do  here;  but  I'll  sheer 
off  to-night.  Keep  up  your  pluck,  Mick;  you  seem  to  have 
lost  it  since  you  and  I — " 

Transom  shuddered  and  silenced  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Go  now,"  he  said.  "  No!  not  that  way,  the  back.  You 
can  slink  into  the  woods  and  keep  in  hiding.  Where  are  you 
staying?" 

"  At  a  hole  of  a  place  called  the  Black  Crow,  just  outside. 
You  might  drop  in  and  have  a  glass — " 

Transom  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  better  not,  perhaps.  Open  the  door.  Wait  a  mo- 
ment." 

He  took  out  a  revolver  and  examined  the  chambers,  then 
he  slipped  it  back  with  a  significant  laugh. 

"  I  might  meet  our  friend,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I  reckon  I 
can  take  care  of  myself  if  I  do!  Don't  you  be  uneasy  on  my 
account,  Mick!"  he  added,  sarcastically. 

Transom  waited  and  listened  for  a  moment,  then  he  opened 
the  back  door,  and  looked  round  and  with  a—  - 


180  LOVE,   THE  TYEANT. 

"  Coast  citidr?    Well,  so  long,  Mick!'*  Densu  went  -jet. 

Kate  had  dragged  herself  away  from  the  door  before  it  was 
opened,  and  was  now  crouching  behind  the  corner  of  the  cot- 
tage, her  face  bidder  in  her  hands,  her  whole  frame  shaking 
as  if  with  ague. 

CHAPTER   XXTT. 

EVEN  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening  Jack  had  told  no  one, 
excepting  Esther,  that  he  was  going;  the  nearer  the  necessity 
for  informing  the  Martins  became,  the  more  he  shrank  from 
it;  and  yet  he  had  resolved  to  leave  Vancourt  that  night,  for 
the  sooner  he  was  gone  the  better.  He  had  at  first  intended 
to  leave  by  the  eveuing  train,  but  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  be  less  unhappy  walking,  and  he  decided  to  tramp  to 
Barminster,  and  perhaps  still  farther,  on  the  London  road; 
he  had  made  himself  a  rough  knapsack  which  would  easily 
carry  all  his  clothes. 

If  he  had  not  been  weighed  down  by  his  love  for  Esther, 
and  his  grief  at  parting  from  her,  Jack  would  have  viewed 
the  tramp  before  him  with  anything  but  regret,  for  the  Van» 
court  passion  for  adventure  ran  strongly  in  his  veins,  and  his 
old  life  in  the  bush  had  accustomed  him  to  long  tramps  and 
plain  living. 

By  eight  o'clock  he  had  been  all  round  the  farm,  and  he 
told  himself  that,  at  any  rate,  Vancourt  had  not  lost  any* 
thing  by  employing  him.  Martin  himself  saw  the  improve- 
ments, and  frankly  remarked  on  them  and  expressed  his  ap- 
proval. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Gordon,  you've  got  a  way  with  you,"  he 
said,  shrewdh,  "  and  you've  managed  to  get  everything  you 
want.  Now,  Ishould  never  have  the  face  to  badger  the  mis- 
tress for  all  the  things  you've  bought  and  all  the  improve- 
ments you've  made.  You'm  a  good  farmer,  too,  I'm  bound 
to  say.  Why,  man,  you  ought  to  have  a  farm  of  your  own." 

Jack  laughed  rather  grimly. 

"  Perhaps  1  may  have  some  day,"  he  said.  "  But  no,  I'm 
afraid  it  wouldn't  suit  me;  don't  like  b»ing  stuck  down  to 
the  place;  you  see,  I'm  fond  of  roaming  about.  Don't  be 
surprised  if  I  *  up-stick '  and  cut  off  some  day  without 
Darning." 

Martin  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  You'm  too  happy  here,  I'm  thinking,  to  do  that,"  he 
said. 

"  I  dan't  know,"  said  Jack.    "  I  miaht  even  so  to-night. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  181 

You're  well  enough  now  to  look  after  the  place.  Don't  be 
surprised  at  anything  I  may  do." 

This  conversation  took  place  soon  after  tea,  as  Jack  was 
leaving  the  farm  lodge;  but  the  Martins  did  not  attach  much 
importance  to  it,  though  his  words  seemed  afterwards  preg- 
nant enough. 

A  little  after  eight  he  went  into  the  cart-sheds  and  looked 
at  the  machines  which  he  had  instructed  the  men  to  clean; 
they  had  done  their  work  imperfectly,  and  he  took  a  cloth 
and  polished  up  the  bright  steel  and  glowing  paints,  trying  to 
forget  his  misery  in  the  occupation.  The  stable  clock  at  the 
Towers  chimed  half-past  nine  as  he  left  the  sheds  and  went  to 
the  cottage.  He  had  tidied  up  the  rooms,  and  his  knapsack 
stood  ready  packed  on  the  table.  There  was  no  reason  why 
he  should  not  go  and  say  good-bye  to  the  Martins  and  take 
his  departure;  but  he  still  lingered,  reluctant  to  leave  the 
spot  where  he  had  found  the  greatest  happiness — and  unhap- 
pmess — of  his  life. 

"  I'll  just  take  one  last  look  round,"  he  murmured, 
shamefacedly.  "  After  all,  it  doesn't  matter  whether  I  start 
at  ten  or  half-past;  I've  got  all  the  night  to  walk  in.  Won- 
der where  I  shall  be  this  time  next  week?  Perhaps  on  the 
way  back  to  Australia  and  to  the  old  life.  Might  do  worse. 
I  shall  feel  precious  lonely  without  Bob.  Poor  old  Bob!  It 
was  good  of  her  to  take  him,  and  he'll  have  a  happy  home. 
But  I  shall  miss  you,  old  man!" 

He  took  up  his  gun  and  lit  his  pipe  and  went  out,  but  with 
a  very  different  step  to  his  usual  light  and  brisk  one.  As  he 
went  down  the  narrow  cart-lane  towards  the  woods  he  saw  a 
girl  standing  beside  a  gate.  It  was  Xate  Transom.  She  was 
leaning  against  the  gate  in  an  attitude  of  dejection,  her  head 
resting  on  her  hand,  and  she  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some 
one.  Jack  quickened  his  pace  and  strode  up  to  her  and  gave 
her  good-evening. 

She  started,  and  her  face  flushed,  then  the  colour  died 
fvway,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  very  pale. 

"  Enjoying  the  cool  of  the  evening?"  he  said,  trying  to 
speak  lightly.  "  It's  not  a  bad  night,  though  the  clouds  get 
across  the  moon  rather  too  much.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  called 
at  your  cottage  this  afternoon  to  ask  your  father  if  he'd  take 
some  cattle  into  market  for  Martin  to-morrow;  but  there  was 
no  one  at  home — at  least  I  couldn't  make  any  one  hear." 

Kate's  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  for  a  moment,  and  he  saw 
fchat  they  were  clouded  with  an  anxious,  troubled  expression. 

*'  What,  time  was  that?"  she  asked  in  a  low 


182  LOVE,  THE  TYBAST. 

"  Eh?    on,  something  after  two.*' 

Her  hand  went  to  the  gate,  and  she  gripped  it.  It  w*s  he 
then,  who  had  come  to  the  cottage  while  the  man  and  her 
father  were  talking. 

"  You — you.  are  going  into  the  woods?'*  she  said. 

There  was  a  note  of  apprehension  in  her  voice  which 
slightly  surprised  him. 

?e  Yes,"  he  said.     "  Why?" 

She  seemed  to  hesitate,  as  if  reluctant  to  give  a  reason  for 
fcer  questions;  then,  as  if  she  could  not  help  herself,  she 
'altered: 

"  Is  it  safe,  Mr.  Gordon?  You  always  go  alone,  and — 
and  there  may  be  poachers;  they  are  reckless  and  des- 
perate— " 

Jack  looked  at  her  sharply  as  she  broke  down. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,*'  he  said,  "  There's  nothing  to  fear, 
and  I've  got  my  gun,  you  see."  He  patted  it  with  a  smile. 
"  But  have  you  any  reason  to  expect  a  visit  from  the  poachers 
to-night?"  he  added,  with  the  glance  that  could  be  keen  and 
piercing  when  he  chose. 

Her  colour  came  and  went,  leaving  her  face  as  pallid  as 
before. 

"  N-o — no,"  she  said;  "  I  know  nothing.  But — but — ah! 
you  will  be  careful,  Mr.  Gordon?" 

In  her  earnestness  she  unconsciously  clasped  her  hands. 
Now,  Jack  was  human,  and  the  girl  was  exceedingly  pretty, 
He  had  befriended  her  more  than  once,  and  one  always  feels 
kindly  disposed  towards  those  one  has  benefited.  He  was 
touched  by  her  regard  for  his  safety. 

"  I'll  be  careful  and  keep  my  eyes  open,  Miss  Transom," 
he  said.  "  It's  very  land  of  you  to  warn  me — to  care  what 
happens  to  me." 

Without  thinking  what  he  was  doing,  and  meaning  nothing 
but  kindly  gratitude  by  the  action,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

She  took  it  in  both  hers,  seemed  to  cling  to  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  her  head  drooped  until  her  soft  warm  lips  touched 
it.  Jack  reddened  under  his  tan,  and  he  stood  in  the  awk- 
ward silence  of  the  man.  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
him,  as  she  had  looked  at  him  the  night  he  had  first  seen  her, 
when  he  had  spared  her  father,  but  with  something  added  to 
the  expression  of  gratitude — something  that  moved  Jack  to 
the  heart;  then,  with  a  stifled  sob,  she  turned  and  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  shadows. 

"  Poor  girll"  be  mused,  as  he  walked  away,  "  I'm  afraid 


LOVE,  THE  TTEANT.  183 

die's  not  over  happy!  Come  to  that,  who  the  deace  of  as  is! 
It's  a  darned  unsatisfactory  world!" 

That  Kate  entertained  any  warmer  feeling  than  that  of 
friendship  never  occurred  to  him,  for  Jack,  with  all  his  faults 
was  free  from  vanity,  and  a  modest  man  to  boot. 

He  kept  a  sharper  lookout  than  usual  when  he  went  through 
the  woods,  but  he  made  a  bee-line  towards  the  house  and  saw 
nothing  of  the  tall,  dark-faced  man  who  was,  as  stealthily  and 
noiselessly  as  Jack  himself  could  have  done,  making  his  way 
to  the  Hawk's  Pool. 

Jack  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  looked  across  the 
park  and  lawn  at  the  house.  The  light  was  streaming  from 
the  open  windows  of  the  drawing-room,  and  Jack  could  hear 
faintly,  the  sound  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton's  voice. 

Sweet  though  it  was,  it  filled  Jack  with  bitterness.  He  did 
not  begrudge  Selby  Layton  his  presence  there,  did  not  be- 
grudge Esther  the  possession  of  the  house  that  was  his, 
Jack's;  but  the  thought  came  to  him: 

"  She  will  marry  some  day:  she  may  even  marry  that- 
fool!  Well,  it's  no  business  of  mine!  I've  given  my  prom- 
ise, I've  bartered  my  house  and  land,  my  very  name,  in  ex- 
change for  my  life,  and  I'll  abide  by  my  word.  But,  if  she 
had  only  been  one  of  the  labourers'  daughters,  if  she'd  only 
been  Kate  Transom!  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  get  over 
it,  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  think  of  her  without  wish- 
ingthat  I  was  dead!" 

He  certainly  was  not  able  to  think  of  Esther  with  equanim- 
ity that  night,  and  he  was  pale  and  shaking  with  love's  de- 
spair as  he  turned  and  tramped  back  amongst  the  trees. 

Automatically  he  strayed  to  the  left  of  the  direct  line  to 
the  cottage  and  so  skirted  the  Hawk's  Pool.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  to  look,  absently,  at  the  water  glimmering  weirdly 
in  the  fickle  rays  of  the  moon  over  which  the  clouds  were 
sailing,  and  as  he  did  so  he  heard  the  peculiarly  painful  cry 
a  hare  emits  when  it  is  caught  in  a  gin.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  tracking  it,  and  he  found  the  poor  animal  caught  by  its 
hind  leg  in  the  snare.  It  squealed  with  fright  as  Jack  ap- 
proached, and  he  was  about  to  kill  it  when  he  saw  that  it  was 
not  much  injured. 

"  Hares  are  scarce,"  he  said,  "  I'll  set  your  leg,  my  friend, 
and  turn  you  loose  again.  I'm  afraid  if  I'd  found  the  man 
who  laid  the  snare  caught  in  it,  I  should  have  been  tempted 
to  leave  him  there,  the  brute!" 

trapping  his  handkerchief  round  the  wound  he  walked 
un,  carrying  the  hare,  and,  in  the  pre-occupation  of  his  mind 


184  IOVE,  THE  TYBA1TT. 

forgetting  his  gun.  If  he  had  been  empty-handed  he  would 
have  been  conscious  of  his  loss  of  the  gun,  but,  carrying 
something,  he  did  not  miss  the  weapon  until  he  had  got  clear 
of  the  woods.  He  remembered  it  then,  and  was  half  inclined 
to  go  back  for  it;  but  hesitated.  He  would  tell  Martin  where 
the  gun  stood  and  Martin  could  send  Georgie  for  it. 

He  carried  the  hare  into  the  cottage  and  bound  the  leg  in 
a  couple  of  splints  and  carrying  it  into  the  clearing,  let  L 
loose.  He  was  standing  watching  the  animal  as  it  ran  limp- 
ingly  into  the  undergrowth,  when  he  heard  a  light  step  behind 
him,  and,  turning  swiftly,  saw  Kate  Transom  standing  look- 
ing  at  the  cottage. 

Now,  Jack  had  no  desire  to  meet  her  again  that  night.  He 
yas  terribly  upset  and  down  in  the  mouth,  and  the  emotion 
she  had  displayed  earlier  in  the  evening  had  made  him  vaguely 
uncomfortable;  so  he  slid  behind  one  of  the  trees.  But  she 
heard  the  movement,  and  uttered  a  low  cry  of  alarm,  and 
Jack,  stifling  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  came  out  and 
walked  towards  her. 

"  What  is  it?  Anything  the  matter?"  he  enquired,  rather 
brusquely. 

"  N-o,  nothing  is  the  matter,"  she  faltered.  "  I — I 
wanted  to  see  if  you  had  come  back,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"  Oh,  I've  come  back  right  enough,"  said  Jack,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "I'm  afraid  you've  been  anxious  on  my  ac- 
count. You  think  the  fellows  are  in  the  woods  to-nighk 
don't  you?  Well,  I  didn't  see  any  of  them." 

At  that  moment  the  moon  emerged  from  behind  a  bank  of 
clouds,  and  its  light  fell  full  upon  him.  Kate  uttered  a  low 
cry  of  terror  and  shrank  back. 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  asked  Jack,  rather  testily. 
"You  seem  very  nervous  to-night." 

"  Look — look  at  your  hands!"  she  faltered,  breathlessly. 

Jack  laughed  and  took  out  his  handkerchief;  but  the  sight 
of  it  only  increased  her  terror. 

**  That  is  all  over  blood,  too!"  she  said,  huskily.  "  Oh, 
what  has  happened?  You  are  hurt!  How — how  did  you  do 
it?" 

Jack  wiped  his  hands  leisurely. 

"  I'm  not  hurt  in  the  least,"  he  said.  "  The  blood  came 
from  a  hare  I  found  in  a  snare  set  by  one  of  those  scoun- 
drels." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Are — are  you  sure  you  are  not  hurt?" 

"  iiv  daar  Miss  Transom,  I  assure  yon  that  nothing  has 


LOVE,  THE  TYBANT.  1^ 

happened  and  that  I  haven't  a  scratch  upon  me.  If  yon  had 
been  here  a  minute  or  two  earlier,  you  would  have  seen  me 
set  the  hare's  leg  and  turn  the  poor  thing  loose." 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"  Oh,  thank  God— thank  God!"  she  panted.  "  I  thought 
—I  was  afraid  " —  She  stopped  and  put  her  hand — it  was 
trembling — to  her  lips  as  if  to  stop  herself.  "  I  thought 
something  had  happened.  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Gor- 
don. I'm  nervous  and  out  of  sorts,  and — and  I  fancy  all 
sorts  of  dreadful  things." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Jack,  gently  enough  now.  "  Women  are 
always  scared  by  the  sight  of  blood."  He  sighed  as  he 
thought  of  the  day  when  Esther  had  shrank  back  from  her 
blood-stained  handkerchief,  which  he  still  carried  in  hia 
bosom.  "  You'd  better  go  home  now;  it's  getting  late.  I'll 
come  with  you." 

"  No — no!"  she  responded  quickly,  almost  fearfully.  "  I 
do  not  want  you  to!  I — I  wish  you  would  go  in  now —  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  for  Jack  had  opened  his  eyes  with  surprise. 
"  I  mean  I  can  go  home  alone  quite  well.  Good-night  and—- 
and forgive  me  for  troubling  you." 

"  Good-night — and  good-bye,"  said  Jack. 

At  the  "  good-bye  "  she  started  and  paused,  and  her  eyes 
sought  his  with  a  troubled  questioning;  but  she  said  nothing 
and  walked  quickly  away. 

Jack  went  into  the  cottage,  had  a  good  wash,  shouldered 
his  knapsack,  and  looking  round  the  little  room  sadly,  went 
out  and  closed  the  door  after  him. 

When  he  had  reached  the  farm  lodge  he  put  the  knapsack 
down  by  the  gate  before  going  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  sitting  by  the  table  sewing,  and  she 
looked  up  with  a  smile — she  knew  his  step — but  the  smile 
vanished  as  she  saw  his  face,  and  she  rose  nervously. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"No.     Why?"  responded  Jack. 

"  You — you  look  so  strange,  so — so  pale.  Are  yea  ill,  Mr. 
Gordon?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Jack,  quietly.  "  But  I'm  rather 
sorry  for  myself,  Mrs.  Martin,  for  I've  come  to  say  good- 
bye." 

"To  say  good-bye!"  she  faltered,  with  amazement. 
"  Why,  where  are  you  going?" 

"  I'm  going  to  London,"  said  Jack.  "  To-night,"  ha 
added.  "  I'm  ashamed  to  rush  it  on  you  like  this,  Mrs.  Mar* 
tin* 


LOVE,  TfiE  TYEA3TT. 

"  You  nave  had  news — bad  news?"  she  said,  as  he  paused. 

He  snatched  at  the  excuse. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  sorry!"  she  murmured,  with  genuine  regret  in  her 
pale  face  and  low  voice.  "  I  won't  ask  you  to  tell  me  what 
it  is.  But  I'm  not  surprised  at  your  going.  I  always 
thought  you  might  leave  us  any  moment.  Of  course,  Mr. 
Gordon,  I've  felt  all  along  that  you  were  different  to  us,  that 
you  weren't  what  you  seemed,  that  you  were  a  gentleman, 
and  that  there  was  something  mysterious  in  your  living  with 
us  as  you  have  done,  and  working  on  the  farm.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  we  shall  all  miss  you — Martin  and  me,  and  Nettie. 
Nettie!  Ah,  I  don't  know  what  she'll  do!  She'll  cry  her 
little  heart  out  when  she  knows.  Yes,  I'm  sorry,"  she  wound 
up  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  You're  not  half  as  sorry  as  I  am,  Mrs.  Martin,"  he  said. 
"  You  have  been  more  than  kind  to  me,  all  of  you;  and  I'd 
stay  with  you  until  I  was  grey-headed,  if  I  could.  But  I  can'*; 
— something  has  happened — "  He  paused  and  stammered, 
"  I  mean,  I've  heard  news  that  compels  me  to  go." 

She  nodded  sadhr. 

"  I'll  go  and  wake  Martin,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  No,  no!"  said  Jack,  quickly.  "  I  half  broke  my  going 
to  him  this  afternoon.  Bid  him  good-bye  for  me  to-morrow. 
Everything  is  straight  at  the  farm,  and — " 

She  looked  at  him  quickly  yet  shyly. 

"  Do  you  want — have  you  enough  money,  Mr.  Gordon?  I 
have  some  put  by  for  a  rainy  day.  It's  not  much,  but  what 
there  is  3  ou  are  more  than  welcome  to,  and  Martin  would  say 
the  same." 

He  shook  his  head  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  he  said: 

"  No,  I'm  all  right  for  money,  Mrs.  Martin,  thank  you.  I 
drew  my  wages  yesterday.  You'll  let  me  kiss  Nettie  good- 
bye? I  won't  wake  her." 

She  led  him  into  the  next  room,  and  Jack  bent  over  the 
cot  and  kissed  the  child.  He  kissed  her  gently,  but  she 
stirred  and  woke,  and  looked  up  at  him  through  half-open 
eyes,  murmuring  his  name  sleepily. 

"  Have  'oo  tome  to  say  dood-night  'cos  you  forgot  it, 
Jack?"  she  said,  with  a  yawn;  and  she  wound  her  arm  round 
his  neck  and  snuggled  her  face  against  him. 

A  lump  rose  in  Jack's  throat  and  something  in  his  eyes 
blotted  out  the  child's  face  from  his  sight. 

"  That's  it,  Nettie,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  I'm  such  an  ab- 
sent-minded chap.  But  don't  you  forget  when  jou  wake  that 


ISBVE,  THE  TYBAOT.  187 

I  did  come  back  to  say,  wish  you  good-night.  Go  to  sleep 
again,  and — " 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  unwound  her  arm  and  laid  her — 
asleep  again  already — on  the  pillow.  His  face  was  white  and 
stern — as  a  man's  face  is  when  he  is  fighting  against  emotion 
— as  he  raised  it. 

"  Tell  her — tell  her  that  I'll  come  back  some  day!"  he 
Said,  hoarsely,  "  and — and  don't  let  her  forget  me." 

"  There's  no  fear  of  that!"  said  the  mother,  with  a  sigh. 
"  We  sha'n't  any  of  us  forget  you,  from  Miss  Vancourt  down- 
wards. I'm  sure  she'll  be  sorry  you've  gone." 

"  Will  she?  Why  should  she?"  he  asked,  with  a  gruesome 
attempt  to  laugh. 

Mrs.  Martin  went  to  the  cupboard  and  drew  a  glass  of  ale  and 
•ffered  it  to  him:  a  slight  thing  enough;  but  it  nearly  broke 
Jack.  He  drank  it  with  the  lump  in  his  throat  inconven- 
iently large,  and  she  went  with  him  to  the  gate,  and  held  out 
her  hand. 

Jack  took  it,  then  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead,  muttered  "  Good-bye,"  slung  his  knapsack  on  his 
fcack  and  strode  off,  as  unhappy  a  wretch  as  any  of  us  deserve 
to  be,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IT  was  not  a  particularly  bright  evening  at  the  Towers. 
Esther  was  silent  and  thoughtful  and  sat  in  a  corner  of  the 
drawing-room  with  a  book,  which  she  looked  at  but  did  not 
read.  It  is  always  painful  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  but  it 
is  doubly  painful  to  feel  conscious  that  you  have  done  so. 
And  Esther  had  more  than  a  suspicion  that  in  giving  Selby 
Lay  ton  "  a  hope  "  she  had  committed  that  folly  which  is  de- 
scribed as  cutting  off  your  nose  to  spite  your  face. 

But  Selby  Layton  was  behaving  admirably.  By  neither 
word  nor  look  did  he  remind  Esther  of  what  had  passed  be- 
tween them  that  morning;  indeed,  though  he  was  as  atten- 
tive as  usual,  he  managed  to  infuse  an  additional  respect  into 
his  manner  which  was  intended  to  soothe  Esther  and  set  her 
doubts  and  fears  at  rest;  and  he  partially  succeeded,  though 
Esther's  words  and  manner  when  she  spoke  to  him  were  full 
of  that  reserve  which,  without  being  coldness,  is  sufficient  to 
keep  a  man  at  arm's  length. 

Mr.  Selby  Layton  sang  as  sweetly  as  ever  that  evening,  and 
seemed  quite  at  his  ease;  but  every  now  and  then  he  glanced 
at  the  clock,  and  when,  at  a  quarter  to  ten.,  I&ther  row  and 


188  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

said  she  was  tired  and  was  going  to  her  room,  he  rose  and 
opened  the  door  with  an  affectation  of  reluctance  which  onlj 
just  concealed  his  relief. 

"  I  think  I  shall  smoke  my  cigar  on  the  terrace,  the  night 
is  so  fine,*'  he  said,  as  he  held  her  hand  and  bestowed  a  slight 
pressure  upon  it,  which  she  did  not  return. 

"  I  think  I  should  put  an  overcoat  on,  Mr.  Layton,"  said 
Miss  Worcester.  "  The  nights  are  rather  chilly,  and  I  fancy 
you  gentlemen  often  catch  cold  by  going  into  the  air  out  of 
a  hot  room  in  your  evening  dress." 

"  Thank  yon.  Yes,  it  would  be  wise,"  he  said.  "  Good- 
night, and  happy  dreams,"  he  murmured,  looking  up  at  them 
with  a  tender  smile. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  tender  smile  fled,  and  was  re- 
placed by  a  look  of  anxiety  which  made  his  face  haggard  and 
worn. 

"  But  for  that  devil  in  human  form  I  could  count  myself 
upon  the  brink  of  success  to-night,"  he  muttered.  "  Shall  I 
draw  back  while  there's  time?" 

He  had  asked  himself  this  question  a  hundred  times  since 
his  meeting  with  Denzil;  but,  though  prudence  whispered 
*'  Yes!"  ambition  and  greed  urged  him  on.  Now,  as  once 
more  he  asked  himself  the  question,  he  looked  round  the  mag- 
nificent room,  thought  of  all  it  represented,  and  cast  pru- 
dence aside. 

"  After  all,  it's  only  a  question  of  price,"  he  muttered. 
"  If  I  can  make  it  worth  his  while  to  hold  his  tongue — and 
he'll  do  anything  for  money.  Yes,  I'll  risk  it.  D — n  it!  I 
can't  go  back  now,  now  that  I'm  within  sight  of  the  goal! 
There's  too  much  at  stake,  the  prize  is  too  large.  Vancourt 
Towers — and  the  girl.  By  Heaven!  she  counts  with  me; 
she's  worth  all  the  rest  put  together.  Yes,  I'll  risk  it — I've 
got  to!" 

He  went  into  the  hall  humming  a  song,  ~ud  put  on  a  light 
overcoat  and  a  bowler  hat. 

"  I'm  going  to  stroll  on  the  terrace,  Palmer,"  he  said. 
''  Pray  don't  sit  up  for  me  if  I'm  tempted  to  be  late.  I  can 
let  myself  »,  and  will  lock  and  bar  the  door  properly." 

"  Very  good  sir,"  said  Palmer.  "  I've  taken  the  cpirit- 
stand  into  the  billiard-room,  sir." 

"  Ah,  thank  you,  Palmer,"  said  Selby  Layton.  "  Yes,  J 
think  I  will  take  a  soda  and  whiskey.  Please  don't  trouble; 
I  can  get  it  myself." 

He  took  a  glass  of  cognac  neat,  instead  of  the  harmless 
soda  and  whiskey,  and  still  humming,  went  through  the  ope: 


COVE,  THE  TYRA1ST.  189 

window  on  to  the  terrace.  He  sauntered  up  and  down  for  a 
few  minutes,  then  looking  at  the  windows  to  see  that  he  was 
not  observed,  he  went  down  the  steps,  and  keeping  within  the 
shadow  of  the  shrubbery  as  far  as  possible,  struck  into  the 
woods, 

Denzil  was  approaching  the  woods  from  the  other  side.  Hfe 
meeting  with  Transom  and  the  knowledge  of  Jack  Gordon's 
presence  in  Vancourt  had,  for  all  his  bravado,  considerably 
affected  him,  and  as  he  made  his  way  through  the  trees  and 
the  thick  undergrowth,  he  looked  about  him  cautiously.  He 
had  seen  enough  of  Jack's  cool  intrepidity  on  the  night  of  the 
murder  in  the  h  ut  to  feel  assured  thnt  if  he  met  his  former 
victim  and  chum  of  the  murdered  man,  that  he,  the  mur- 
derer, would  receive  little  mercy  at  Jack's  hands;  and  every 
now  and  then  his  hand  wandered  to  the  revolver  in  the  belt 
he  wore  under  his  waistcoat,  and  at  every  sound  he  heard  in 
the  covert  his  lips  tightened  and  his  scowl  grew  darker. 

He  reached  the  pool  at  last,  and  looked  round  with  some- 
thing like  a  shudder,  for  the  weirdness  of  the  scene,  the  al- 
most stagnant  water  with  its  coating  of  green,  upon  which 
the  moonbeams  fell  with  a  ghastly  light,  impressed  even  his 
callous  nature. 

"  A  nice  place  for  a  murder,"  he  muttered.  "  Is  that 
hound  going  to  keep  me  hanging  about  long,  I  wonder?  He'd 
better  not." 

"  That  hound  "  was  approaching  almost  as  stealthily  as 
Denzil  had  done,  and  he  had  almost  reached  the  pool,  when, 
by  a  sudden  gleam  of  moonlight,  he  saw  a  gun  leaning  up 
against  a  tree.  The  sight  startled  him  as  much  as  the  foot- 
print on  the  sand  had  startled  Robinson  Crusoe;  and  with 
the  quick  suspicion  of  the  guilty  who  "  fears  an  officer  in 
every  bush,"  he  stopped  and  looked  round  apprehensively, 
and  listened,  holding  his  breath.  The  hoot  of  an  owl  that 
flew  from  a  tree  across  the  pool  sent  his  heart  into  his  mouth, 
but  there  were  no  sound  of  footsteps,  no  sign  of  the  owner  of 
the  gun.  At  last  he  took  it  up  and  examined  it  mechanically, 
and  as  he  was  doing  it,  he  heard  a  movement  in  front  of  him, 
He  had  only  time  to  drop  the  gun  in  the  undergrowth  before 
Denzii'c  tall  figure  came  into  the  wan,  rain-washed,  moon- 
light. 

Selby  Layton  waited  for  him,  with  hate  and  loathing  in  his 
heart,  but  a  forced  smile  on  his  face. 

"  So  here  you  are  at  last'"  said  Denzil,  with  barely  sup- 
Dressed  savagery.  "  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  keeo  your 


190  I0VE,  THE  TYBA3T. 

time?  Do  you  think  this  is  the  kind  of  place  to  keep  a  mac 
waiting  in?" 

"  I  beg  one  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  Denzil,"  said  Selby 
Layton,  moving  away  from  the  gun,  which  was  completely 
concealed  by  the  bracken.  "  As  you  say,  it  is  not  a  cheerful 
place  " — he  looked  round  with  a  slight  shudder — "  and  I  am 
sorry  I  was  detained  and  found  it  impossible  to  leave  the 
house  earlier;  but  I  trust  I  have  not  kept  you  long.  I'm 
afraid  my  stay  must  be  measured  by  minutes — " 

— "  You  can  go  the  moment  you  have  come  to  my  terms; 
for  the  matter  of  that,  you  can  go  now,  if  you  like.  I'm  indif- 
ferent. I  hold  all  the  cards,  Selby,  as  you  know,  and  I've 
got  you  under  my  foot,  like  a  toad  under  a  harrow." 

He  smiled  in  his  sardonic  fashion  and  nodded  at  Selby  Lay- 
ton,  threateningly. 

"  You  put  the  position  roughly,  not  to  say  coarsely,  my 
dear  Denzil;  but  forgive  me  if  I  venture  to  say  that  you  ex- 
aggerate the  condition  of  affairs  between  us.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  am,  as  you  put  it,  under  your 
foot." 

Denzil  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  if  that's  your  line.  Well,  stick  to  it.  Ill 
come  with  you  to  the  house  and  tell  Miss  Vancourt  what  I 
know." 

"  And  after,  as  the  French  say?"  said  Selby,  almost 
sweetly. 

Denzil  glowered  at  him. 

"  After?  Well,  I  imagine  that  your  game  will  have  been 
pretty  well  squashed.  Look  here,  Selby,  we  may  as  well  save 
time  by  coming  to  the  point.  I  know  your  game.  I've  kept 
my  eyes  and  ears  open  since  I've  been  in  this  cursed  place, 
and  I  know  you're  after  this  young  girl,  the  mistress  of  the 
Towers,  and  of  old  Vancourt's  money.  Don't  take  the 
trouble  to  deny  it." 

"  I  deny,  assert,  nothing,"  said  Selby  Layton,  still  smooth- 
ly. "  Suppose  you  are  right  in  your  surmise — " 

Denzil  cut  in  with  an  oath. 

"  I  am  right,  and  you  know  it.  I  saw  you  with  her  this 
morning  before  you  saw  me,  and  your  face —  Bah!  I  pity 
the  girl!  But  it  s  no  business  of  mine.  You  may  marry  ner, 
or  any  one  else  you've  set  your  mind  on,  so  long  as  you  square 
me." 

"  If  my  memory  does  not  deceive  me,  I  gave  you  a  hundred 
pounds  only  a  short  time  ago." 

Denzil  laughed  coolly. 


£0VE,  THE  TYBA2JT.  191 

"That's gone,"  he  said,  fiercely. 

*'  A  large  sum !"  murmured  Selby  Layton. 

"  Large  or  sm»sill,  it's  gone,  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  you 
cackle  about  it!"  retorted  Denzil.  "  What  I  want  is  to  come 
to  business  with  you  as  sharp  as  possible.  What  you  want  it 
that  I  should  hold  my  tongue.  I'll  do  it  for  a  considera- 
tion." 

"  Name  it!"  said  Selby  Layton. 

"  A  thousand  pounds  down  and  five  hundred  a  year  paid  on 
this  day  of  the  month." 

Selby  Layton  laughed  softly. 

"  My  dear  Denzil,  that  is  really  preposterous!" 

"  Is  it?"  retorted  Denzil,  coldly.  ft  All  right!  Am  I  to 
take  it  that  you  refuse?  Out  with  it!  I  want  to  know  on» 
way  or  the  other." 

"  And  if  I  refuse?"  asked  Selby. 

Denzil  eyed  him  savagely. 

"  Then  I  go  up  to  the  house  to-morrow  morning  and  tell 
the  girl  what  a  d — d  hound  and  scoundrel  you  are.  I'll 
tell  her  the  whole  story.  And  it  will  sound  well,  won't  it? 
I'll  tell  her  that  the  Selby  Layton  who  has  been  passing  as  a 
high-minded  gentleman,  and  who  wants  to  marry  her,  is  mar- 
ried already.  That  he  ran  off  with  a  simple  country  girl  who 
was  idiot  enough  to  believe  in  him,  and  married  her  under  a 
false  name." 

Selby  Layton  was  very  pale,  but  he  smiled,  with  the  ugly 
twist  of  his  lip. 

"  And  if  I  deny  it,  which  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Denzil,  I 
should  do,  whom  do  you  think  she  will  believe;  me,  th« 
gentleman,  the  man  of  position  and  honor,  or — comparisons 
are  invidious,  make  that  between  you  and  me,  your  position 
and  character,  and  mine,  for  yourself,  my  dear  Denzil." 

"  So  that  is  your  game,  is  it?"  said  Denzil,  with  smoulder- 
ing fury.  "  It's  a  poor  one,  and  wouldn't  do  you  credit. 
You  forget  I've  the  certificate." 

Selby  Layton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  In  which  my  real  name  doesn't  appear.  You  would  want 
witnesses  to  identity;  the  bride  is  dead." 

"  Not  she!"  he  said.  "  Madge,  my  sister  and  your  wife, 
is  alive  right  enough." 

"  I  was  informed  she  was  dead,"  said  Selby  Layton,  ae 
coolly  as  he  could.  "  1  prefer  to  believe — " 

'*  Bluff!    But  it's  no  use.     I  can  produce  Madge  in 
atid-twenty  hours,  on  my  honor." 

fcJelb   sneered* 


192  LOVE,  THE  TYKASiT. 

"  Forgive  me,  but  the  guarantee  is  insufficient,  my  dear 
Denzil.  "  Proof — proof  is  what  I  want." 

Denzil  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  letter. 

"  You  shall  have  it." 

"  A  forgery,  no  doubt!  It  does  infinite  credit  to  your  in- 
genuity, Denzil,  but  is  not  flattering  to  my  perspicacity," 

Denzil  thrust  it  out. 

"  Curse  your  smooth  tongue!"  he  said,  with  an  outburst  of 
passion.  "  Bead  it,  look  at  it!  You  know  her  handwriting 
too  well  to  be  deceived  by  a  forgery.  And  look  at  that!" 

He  took  out  a  photograph  and  thrust  it  towards  Selby. 

It  was  a  photograph  of  a  still  young  but  vulgar-looking 
woman,  dressed  vilely,  with  the  face  and  air  of  the  demi- 
monde. 

Selby  Layton  looked  and  shuddered. 

"  Taken,  as  the  letter  says,  only  a  month  ago,"  said  Den- 
zil.   "  You  recognise  her?    You  can't  help  it;  it's  Madge  all- 
over,"  he  chuckled.     "  Are  you  satisfied  now,  you — you  un- 
believing Jew?" 

Selby  Layton  moistened  his  lips. 

"  The  proof  seems  adequate,"  he  said.  '  Yes;  I  admit  it. 
3ut  you  must  acquit  me  of  any  intention  to  deceive  Miss  Van- 
court.  Of  course  now  I  know  poor  Madge  is  really  alive — " 

Denzil  had  been  watching  him  closely,  and  Selby  Layton's 
eyes  fell  under  the  scrutiny.  Denzil  laughed. 

"  Not  good  enough,"  he  said.  "  I  can  read  you  like  a 
book.  You  don't  mean  to  chuck  up  the  thing.  Why  should 
you?  Madge  thinks  you're  dead.  She  read  of  the  death  of 
'  Adolphus  Robinson '  in  the  papers  some  kind  friend  sent 
her — you  worked  that  very  well,  Selby — and  there's  no  one  to 
tell  her  the  truth  and  undeceive  her  but  myself  and  you. 
You,  I  take  it,  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  rush  into  her  arms,  and 
I — oh,  I'm  mum  as  death  if  you  make  it  worth  my  while." 

Selby  Layton  gnawed  at  his  lip  with  his  eyes  lixed  on  the 
ground. 

"  Are  you  sure  no  one  knows  of  my  identity  with — with 
the  man  whose  name  appears  in  this  certificate?"  he  asked. 

"Certain!"  responded  Denzil.  "Who  should?  You 
played  your  cards  too  well.  Madge  herself  has  no  suspicion 
that  she  married  you  under  a  false  name.  You're  dead  as 
far  as  she  is  concerned;  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  meeting 
you  accidentally  a  year  after  you  bolted  her,  I  shouldn't  know 
it.  No,  there's  no  one  in  this  little  business  but  our  two 
selves,  Selby;  and  there  will  be  no  suspicion — " 

"  SusDicion!"  echoed  Selby,  with  a  gesture  of  imoatience 


LOVE,  THE  TYRABT.  193 

and  resenumsue.  "  The  air  must  be  full  of  bObj/idon.  Was 
there  nothing  suspicious  in  your  stopping  me  and  detaining 
me  this  morning?  Miss  Vancourt  noticed  it  and  asked  ques» 
tions.  Your  presence  in  the  place  is  suspicious;  no  doubt  you 
have  been  seen  coming  here,  may  have  been  watched,  fol- 
lowed." He  looked  round  as  if  he  expected  to  see  or  hear 
the  watcher. 

Denzil  shook  his  head. 

"  No  one  saw  me,  no  one  followed  me.     I'll  take  my  oath 

ton  that,"  he  said.     "  I've  stayed  at  the  little  inn  on  the  roa<?_ 

'—.the  Black  Crow;  I  told  the  landlord  that  I  was  an  artist, 

I've  spoken  to  no  one  else.     And  I've  paid  my  bill,  and  am 

supposed  to  be  on  my  way  to  London  by  this  time.  No,  there 

is  no  need  to  talk  of  suspicion.    We're  alone  here,  and  no  one 

has  followed  me;  do  you  think  I  shouldn't  know?" 

He  laughed  scornfully,  and  eyed  the  downcast  Selfoy,  who 
still  gnawed  softly  at  his  nether  lip. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Selby,"  he  resumed,  after  a  pause.  "  I 
know  what  you're  thinking.  That  I  shall  be  a  kind  of  nuis- 
ance to  you,  that  I  shall  be  for  ever  blackmailing  you — " 

"  You  do  indeed  read  my  thoughts,  my  dear  Denzil,"  said 
Selby,  with  a  sneer. 

"You're-  wrong,"  protested  Denzil,  coolly.  "I'll  take 
my  oath  " — Selby  Layton's  sneer  grew  more  mocking — "  that 
this  is  the  last  time  I  will  badger  you.  I've  reasons  of  my 
own  for  wishing  to  get  out  of  this  cursed  country.  You  know 
some  i.i  'em;  but  not  all.  I  mean  to  go  back  to  Australia 
and  buy  a  farm  with  this  thousand  pounds." 

"  And  lose  it,"  said  Selby. 

"  Very  likely;  that's  why  I  insist  upon  the  five  hundred  a 
year,"  retorted  Denzil.  "  1  shall  have  enough  to  live  on 
whatever  happens.  What  stops  you  from  coming  to  terms? 
You  ought  to  jump  at  it.  I  might  have  asked  you  for  ten 
times  the  amount,  for  half  of  what  you're  going  to  make,  and 
by  God,  I  will,  too,  if  you  haggle  much  longer.  And  you 
can't  refuse  me!" 

His  anger  was  rising.  He  was  impatient  to  be  gone.  Jack 
Gordon's  face,  his  voice — which  he  had  heard  through  the 
door  only  a  few  hours  ago-  —haunted  him,  and  filled  him  with 
a  vague  dread  which  the  weird  and  ghastly  place  in  which 
they  stood  aggravated. 

"  Can  I  not?"  murmured  Selby  Layton. 

"  No!"  snarled  Denzil.  "  Do  you  think  I  sha'n't  put  the 
screw  on?  Do  you  think  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  showing  you 
no  to  the  sari  at  the  house  there?  No!"  He  swore  an  awful 


194  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

oath.  "  I'll  go  straight  to  Madge  and  set  her  on  your  track. 
And  she'll  jump  for  you!  She'll  claim  you  and  insist  on  her 
rights.  And  do  you  know  what  that  means?" 

He  laughed  sardonically  and  eyed  Selby  Layton  meaningly, 
and  Selby  Layton's  face  grew  whiter,  the  twist  of  his  lip  more 
marked. 

"  You  know  what  she  was  when  you  gave  her  the  slip. 
She's  worse  now,  ten  times  worse!  She'd  make  a  nice  wire 
for — what  was  it? — a  gentleman  of  character  and  position!" 
He  laughed  again.  "  'Pon  my  soul,  I'm  half  tempted  to 
chuck  away  what  I  may  make  out  of  you,  to  withdraw  my 
offer,  and  to  go  to  Madge.  The  fun  of  the  thing  would  be 
worth  something." 

The  sweat  stood  in  big  drops  on  Selby  Layton's  forehead. 

"  You  forget  the  risk  to  yourself  in  this  amiable  threat,  my 
dear  Denzil,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  not,  I  don't!  But  I've  taken  risks  before  now;  anil 
perhaps  I'm  desperate.  I've  had  a  rough  time  lately — but 
that  won't  interest  you;  much  you'd  care  for  that!  Come, 
I'm  sick  of  this  palaver!  Make  up  your  mind  one  way  or  the 
other.  Come  to  my  terms  and  you're  free  to  marry  this  girl 
and  collar  the  swag;  refuse,  and,  by  God!  I'll  ^how  you  up 
and  set  Madge  on  you!" 

The  words  sent  a  thrill,  a  shudder  through  Selby  Layton. 
He  raised  his  eyes,  they  were  bloodshot  with  the  strain  he  ha® 
undergone,  and  looked  steadily,  with  a  curious  expression  at 
his  tormentor. 

"  Your  argument  is  conclusive  and  irrefragible,  my  de#f 
Denzil;  and  I  agree  with  what  grace  I  may.  A  thousand 
pounds — " 

"  Your  cheque  will  do,"  broke  in  Denzil,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  can  almost  see  it  in  your  breast  pocket.  Yes,  a  cheque 
will  do.  I'm  not  afraid  of  your  stopping  it " 

Selby  Layton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'  'I  will  admit  that  I  came  prepared  for  some  demand  from 
you,"  he  said,  as  he  took  out  the  cheque-book  and  a  stylo- 
graphic  pen.  He  knelt  and  wrote  with  the  book  on  his  knee, 
and  handed  up  the  cheque. 

Denzil  took  it,  and,  folding  it,  slipped  it  into  his  trousers 
pocket:  it  is  always  the  safest  pocket. 

"  And  now  a  word  or  two  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  promising 
that  five  hundred  a  year,"  he  said. 

"  I've  no  paper — is  it  necessary?"  asked  Selby  Layton, 
moodily.  "  My  word  is  as  good  as  my  bond,  my  deai 
Denzil." 


LOVE,  fHB  TYRANT.  195 

"And  neither  is  worth  anything!"  remarked  Denzil. 
"  Here,  I've  a  sheet  of  paper.  Half  of  Madge's  letter  will 
do.  And  I'll  draw  it  out.  Give  me  hold  of  the  pen !" 

Selby  Layton  gave  him  the  pen,  and  Denzil  knelt  on  one 
knee  and  spread  out  the  paper  on  the  other.  The  moonlight 
was  now  pouring  on  both  men,  with  a  light  almost  as  clear  as 
day.  A  silence  reigned  for  a  moment,  as  Deiizil  wrote: 

"  I,  Selby  Layton,  promise  to  pay  Denzil  Mayhew  the  sum 
of  five  hundred  pounds  per  annum  for  consideration  duly  re- 
ceived— I  should  make  a  good  lawyer's  clerk,  eh,  Selby9"  he 
put  in,  with  a  laugh — the  laugh  of  the  man  who  has  won. 
*'  By  God!  I  ought  to  have  made  it  five  thousand!" 

He  looked  round  with  a  smile — the  smile  that  the  van- 
quished find  it  so  hard  to  bear:  if  the  harrow  could  smile  as 
it  passed  over  the  toad,  would  not  the  toad  turn? 

This  toad  did.  He  stooped  down  and  felt  amongst  tb? 
bracken  until  his  hand  closed  over  the  barrel  of  the  gun.  His 
breath  came  fast,  his  teeth  clenched.  He  opened  them  to 
murmur: 

"  You  have  forgotten  to  say  *  for  my  life,'  my  dear 
Denzil." 

"  So  I  have!  Good  or  you  to  remember  itl"  responded 
Denzil,  with  a  sneer.  "  For  my  life — " 

As  Denzil  bent  to  write  the  words,  Selby  rose,  swung  the 

§un  over  his  shoulder,  and  brought  the  stock  with  terrific  force 
own  upon  the  head  of  the  kneeling  man. 
Denzil  fell  forward  with  an  inarticulate  cry,  then  he  stag- 
gered to  his  feet,  and  with  outstretched  hands  felt,  in  a  blind] 
kind  of  way,  for  his  assailant. 

Selby  raised  the  gun  again  and  struck  with  all  hia  force, 
and  Denzil  went  down  like  an  ox  in  the  shambles. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SELBY  LAYTON'  stood,  with  the  gun  in  his  hand,  staring 
vacantly  at  the  long  figure  stretched,  face  upwards,  on  the 
crushed  bracken.  He  was  simply  stupefied  by  his  act  and  its 
effect;  for  the  impulse  to  catch  up  the  gun  and  strike  down 
the  villain  who  held  him  in  his  power,  had  come  so  suddenly, 
so  irresistibly,  that  he  had  yielded  to  it  as  one  of  the  lower 
animals  yields  to  the  brute  desire  to  bite  or  claw.  He  had 
struck  the  first  time  in  obedience  to  this  impulse,  and  the  sec- 
ond time,  as  Denzil  went  for  him,  in  self-defence. 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  had  intended,  he  had  been  in- 
spired by  a  blind  and  burning  rage,  tod  now —  How  far  had 


196  SOFB,  THE  TYRUIT. 

lie  hurt  life  foe  and  tyrant?  Denzil  was  stunned,  at* 
but  Selby  Layton  was  filled  with  astonishment  that  he,  who 
was  so  much  weaker  than  the  other  man,  should  have  been 
able  to  knock  him  senseless  by  a  couple  of  blows.  He  did  not 
know  that  a  gun,  held  by  the  barrel  and  well  swung,  makes 
one  of  the  most  deadly  of  clubs.  A  feeling  of  disgust  with 
himself  followed  his  impulse  and  broke  his  stupor. 

"  I  must  bring  him  to,"  he  muttered.  "  I  must  do  that, 
though  it's  scarcely  safe,  for  he'll  turn  on  me  like  a  wild 
beast.  What  a  fool  I- was!  Better  have  paid  anything,  en* 
dured  anything,  to  keep  him  quiet.  And  now  I've  roused 
his  resentment  and  he  will  want,  and  have,  his  revenge." 

Swearing  to  himself,  he  went  to  the  edge  of  the  pool — the 
men  had  been  standing  quite  close  to  it — and  soaking  bis 
handkerchief,  knelt  beside  the  motionless  form  and  bathed 
Denzil' s  forehead.  As  he  did  so,  he  saw  that  the  blow  had 
fallen  on  the  right  temple,  and,  with  a  shudder,  noticed  that 
the  skull  bone  was  crushed  in. 

"  Pull  yourself  together,  Denzil!"  he  whispered.  "  I'm 
sorry;  but  you  drove  me  rather  hard.  Can  you  hear  me,  are 
you  conscious?" 

The  prostrate  man  made  no  sign,  and  Selby  Layton,  fight- 
ing against  an  awful  dread,  raised  his  head.  It  rolled  on  his 
arm  like  a  wooden  ball,  and  he  dropped  it,  and  with  shaking 
hand  thrust  his  hand  inside  Denzirg  waistcoat,  and  felt  for 
his  heart. 

It  was  still,  as  still  as  the  slime-grown  pool  that  lay  hideous 
in  the  moonlight.  The  man  was  dead!  Selby  Layton  nearly 
fell  across  the  body,  then  he  rose  and  staggered  to  a  tree,  and 
leaning  against  it  stared  with  distended  eyes  at  the  corpse. 

The  man  was  dead,  and  he  had  killed  him:  therefore,  he 
was  a  murderer  I 

It  was  too  terrible  to  be  true,  too  ridiculous,  absurd!  He 
tried  to  smile,  to  thrust  the  thought  away  from  him;  and 
after  a  moment  or  two  he  crept  slowly,  reluctantly  to  the 
body  and  examined  it  again.  Horrible  as  it  was,  it  was  troe- 
The  man  was  dead,  and  he,  Selby  Layton,  had  killed  him. 

He,  Selby  Layton,  the  cultured  and  refined  gentleman,  the 
"  drawing-room  pet,"  as  he  had  heard  himself  called,  had 
murdered  a  man  with  as  vulgar  and  brutal  a  blow  as  was  ever 
delivered  by  a  foot-pad  or  coal-heaver. 

He  shuddered,  and  uttering  a  cry,  staggered  back  to  the 
tree  and  shut  out  the  sight  of  the  awful  figure  lying  so  still— 
the  white  face,  with  the  kvid  marks  on  the  temple  that  stared 
at  him  accusingly. 


IOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  1C7 

What  should  he  do?  His  first  impulse  was  to  rnsh  from 
the  spot  and  give  himself  up  to  the  police.  It  was  the  only 
thing  to  do,  the  only  course  to  pursue.  Yes,  he  must  give 
himself  up.  Then,  as  he  thought  of  the  consequences  of  his 
mad  deed,  he  paused  and  considered.  To  give  himself  up 
would  be  to  take  the  first  step  to  the  gallows.  There  could 
be  no  escape  for  him.  This  was  not  even  manslaughter  which 
he  committed,  but  murder,  wilful  murder. 

Oh,  God!  What  should  he  do?  What  was  the  best,  tha 
most  prudent  thing?  Flight  occurred  to  him;  but  he  knew 
that  night  would  be  impossible.  He  would  be  run  down  be- 
fore he  could  get  as  far  as  London.  No;  flight  was  impossi* 
ble;  a  shameful  death,  from  which  there  seemed  no  escape, 
stared  him  in  the  face,  unless — unless  he  could  conceal  nia 
crime.  He  sank  in  a  heap  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  and  gripped 
his  head  with  his  hands. 

"  Let  me  think — let  me  think,"  he  muttered,  hoarsely. 
"  Mr  life  depends  upon  the  step  I  take  now;  there  seems 
nothing  but  the  gallows  before  me,  and  yet — " 

He  shut  his  teeth  and  strove  for  self-possession,  for  calm- 
ness, as  he  reviewed  the  situation — the  awful  situation.  There, 
within  a  few  feet  of  him,  lay  the  body  of  the  man  he  had 
killed.  Would  it  be  possible  to  conceal  the  body,  to  remove 
any  suspicious  circumstances  connected  with  himself? 

Denzil  was  a  stranger  in  the  place,  had  been  seen  bv  few, 
according  to  his  own  account  had  spoken  to  few.  No  one 
knew  that  he  was  going  to  that  lonely  spot,  and  he  had  been 
sure  that  no  one  had  followed  him.  The  landlord  of  the  Black 
Crow  was  under  the  impression  that  Denzil  was  already  on 
his  way  to  London. 

Would  the  man  be  missed?  Not  in  Vancourt,  certainly; 
but  how  about  London?  Here,  again,  there  was  a  hope,  a 
chance  of  escape  for  Selby  Lay  ton.  Denzil  belonged  to  the 
criminal  class;  his  sudden  disappearance  would  not  seem 
singular  to  his  friends,  who  were,  no  doubt,  themselves 

fiven  to  sudden  disappearances.  It  would  be  thought,  when 
e  did  not  turn  up  in  his  usual  haunts,  wherever  they  were, 
that  he  had  gone  back  to  Australia. 

Selby  Layton  worked  this  out  in  his  mind  slowly,  carefully. 

So  far,  so  good.  But  there  was  his  own  time  to  account 
for.  How  long  had  he  been  away  from  the  house? 

He  took  out  his  watch;  but  as  he  did  so,  the  stable  chimed 
the  quarter  to  eleven.  Only  half  an  hour.  His  month 
openec,  and  he  fell  into  a  kind  of  stupor  at  the  thought  of  all 
*bfli  bajnnfinfid  in  that  short  time.  Thirty  mtanftefi:  and  be 


LOVE,   THE  TYRANT. 

fiad  killed  a  man  witmn  that  space!  Half  an  hour  i*gv  lie 
had  beem  free  from  crime,  at  peace  with  the  law;  now  he  was 
a  murderer  and  trying  to  scheme  out  some  way  of  escape 
from  that  same  law.  Gould  it  be  true?  Hadn't  he  taken 
too  many  sodas  and  whiskeys,  and  was  dreaming?  He  had 
only  to  glance  at  that  terrible,  straight,  long  figure,  with  its 
fcrhite  face  and  livid  mark,  to  realise  the  truth. 

But  let  him  think,  think,  think! — not  give  way  to  morbid 
reflections.  If  he  was  to  save  his  life,  he  would  need  all  the 
acuteness  on  which  he  prided  himself;  all  his  courage,  in 
which  he  knew  he  was  deficient:  and  yet  he  had  killed  a  man 
with  only  two  blows! 

If  he  decided  not  to  give  himself  up  the  body  must  be  con- 
cealed. He  looked  round.  Burial  is  the  first  thought  of  the 
tourderer;  but  Selby  Layton  knew  that  he  could  not  bury  the 
corpse.  There  were  no  tools,  no  time.  His  eye  caught  the 
pool  shimmering  in  the  moonlight,  and  his  mind  seized  the 
idea  it  conveyed.  If  he  could  put  the  body  in  the  pool:  to 
rise  again,  a  ghastly  accuser?  At  a  little  distance  was  a  boat- 
house.  It  was  a  ruined  and  tumble-down  affair,  as  such 
places  soon  become  when  they  are  neglected;  and  the  Hawk's 
J?ool  had  long  been  left  to  itself;  for  it  was  not  large  enough 
for  boating,  and  the  only  persons  who  visited  it  were  sports- 
men— and  poachers — in  search  of  game;  the  place  abounded 
ia  water-fowl. 

Cautiously,  pausing  to  listen  at  every  step,  Selby  Layton 
made  his  way  to  the  boat-house.  The  boat,  half  full  of  water, 
was  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  pool,  moored  to  the  boat-house 
by  a  chain  and  anchor — a  heavy  anchor,  which  had,  no  doubt, 
come  from  a  wreck  in  the  bay. 

He  conceived  his  plan  in  a  moment,  and,  unfastening  the 
boat,  softly  pushed  it  into  the  water  and,  with  a  broken  oar, 
sculled  it  opposite  the  body.  Then  he  stepped  ashore  and 
fastened  a  rope  which  he  had  found  in  the  boat-house  to  the 
body,  and  carried  it  to  the  edge  of  the  water. 

He  was  about  to  push  it  in,  his  eyes  shut,  his  whole  form 
tingling  with  horror  and  loathing,  when  it  occurred  to  him 
that  in  all  probability  Denzil  had  the  certificate  upon  him. 
He  remembered  the  old  pocket-book  in  which  he  had  seen 
Denzil  place  it  the  night  he  had  visited  Claremont  Street. 
Shuddering  and  shaking,  he  searched  in  the  pockets  of  the 
coat  But  there  was  no  pocket-book.  A  few  shillings  were 
in  one  of  the  waistcoat  pockets;  there  were  a  deadly  looking 
knife,  tobacco,  and  a  pipe;  and  in  the  belt  was  the  revolver. 

"  If  I  had  not  struck  him  again  and — and  killed  him,  hr 


LOVE,  THE  TTRAJJTV  299 

weald  nave  killed  me:  it  was  manslaughter,  after  all,"  he 
snused;  "  but  no  jury  would  believe  it  The  pocket-book  is 
not  here;  where  is  that  certificate — where,  where?" 

A  slight  sound  startled  him,  and  be  flung  himself  face 
downwards  beside  the  body.  A  pheasant  rose  from  the  under- 
growth and  whizzed  by  him,  and  nearly  paralyzed  him  with 
terror. 

He  rose  and  with  feverish  haste  half  dragged,  half  pushed 
the  body  into  the  water,  and  getting  into  the  boat,  oaref  ully 
rowed  it  a  little  way  into  the  pool  keeping  in  the  shadow  of 
the  trees.  The  body  floated  and  bobbed  in  ghastly  fashion, 
and  the  face,  as  the  wan  moonlight  played  on  it,  seemed  to 
grin  at  him  threateningly  and  mockingly. 

Across  Selby  Layton's  mind  there  flashed  the  lines  from 
the  immortal  poem  of  "  Eugene  Aram."  He  had  not  read 
or  heard  them  for  years,  and  yet  every  word  seemed  to  born 
in  his  brain: 

"  1  took  the  dreary  body  up, 
And  cast  it  in  a  stream — 
A  sluggish  water,  black  as  ink, 
The  depth  was  so  extreme}-" 

***** 

Heavily  I  rose  up,  as  soon 

As  light  was  in  the  sky, 
And  sought  the  black,  accursed  pool 

With  a  wild  misgiving  eye; 
And  I  saw  the  dead  in  the  liver  bed, 

For  the  faithless  stream  was  dry!" 

The  fool  who  wrote  the  thing  might  have  had  this  night's 
work  in  his  eye!  What  rot  it  was,  what  rot!  Why  should 
the  pool  ever  dry  up?  It  had  been  in  its  present  condition  for 
centuries  no  doubt,  and  would  remain  so  for  centuries  more. 
Why  did  the  accursed  lines  run  in  his  mind? 

"  And  1  saw  the  dead  in  the  river  bed, 
For  the  faithless  stream  was  dry]" 

When  he  had  got  the  boat  into  the  position  he  fancied,  he 
wound  the  anchor-chain  tightly  round  the  body,  cut  the  rope, 
and  slowly,  gently,  inch  by  inch,  lowered  the  anchor  over  the 
eide  and  let  it  slip  into  the  water.  The  thing  was  heavy — the 
manipulating  of  it  had  brought  the  cold  sweat  to  his  face — 
and  the  moment  it  was  released  it  went  down,  dragging  the 
body  with  it,  as  if  a  hand  had  been  thrust  up  and  snatched  it 
down,  down,  into  the  black  depths. 

There  was  a  swirl  on  the  green,  slimy  surface,  then  all  was 
8tOL 


200  LOVE,   THE  TTKA»T. 

Fascinated,  Selby  Layton  stared  at  the  spot  with  pallid  feot. 
and  starting  eyes,  then  he  remembered  his  own  safety,  and 
forced  himself,  for  he  was  like  a  man  under  a  spell,  to  row 
the  boat  back  to  the  boat-house. 

He  fastened  it  up,  as  nearly  as  possible  in  its  original  posi- 
tion, then  went  back  to  the  fatal  spot. 

There  were  two  objects  to  be  disposed  of,  Denzil's  hat  and 
the  gun.  He  pondered  for  a  moment,  then  he  carefully 
brushed  the  bracken  aside,  dug  a  small  hole  with  a  pen- 
knife, buried  the  cap,  and  arranged  the  bracken  over  thf 
spot. 

The  gun  troubled  him.  He  examined  the  butt.  There 
was  no  indication  of  the  foul  use  to  which  it  had  been  pat, 
death  had  beeu  caused  almost  instantaneously  by  the  force  of 
the  blow  falling  directly  on  the  temple.  He  decided  to  re- 
place the  guti  where  he  had  found  it.  The  man — whether 
keeper  or  poacher — to  whom  it  belonged  would  be  sure  to 
come  back  for  it — might  be  on  his  way  even  now  at  that  mo- 
ment, he  thought,  with  a  thrill  of  terror — and  would  nat- 
urally be  suspicious  if  it  were  not  where  he  had  left  it,  and 
would  make  enquiries. 

He  placed  the  gun  against  the  tree,  trying  to  remember  the 
exact  angle  at  which  it  had  stood,  then  straightened  his  back 
and  wiped  the  huge  drops  of  sweat  from  his  face. 

His  work  was  done,  whether  for  good  or  ill.  It  was  done, 
and  he  was  free  to  go.  But,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  he  stili 
lingered.  As  the  body  had  fascinated  him,  so  did  the  spot  on 
which  it  had  lain,  and  he  stood  and  stared  at  it.  Mechanic- 
ally he  raised  the  bracken  which  had  been  crushed  by  their 
footsteps  and  the  fallen  man,  then  slowly,  with  many  a  back- 
ward glance,  which  took  in  the  horrible  pool,  he  stole  away. 

To  say  that  he  felt  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  his  brow  is  to 
say  a  hackneyed  and  obvious  thing;  but,  for  very  certain, 
Selby  Layton  felfe  that  he  was  a  different  man  to  the  man 
who  had  stolen  into  that  same  wood  an  hour  ago.  He  felt  aa 
if  something  had  gone  out  of  his  life.  Something  that  would 
never  come  back,  that  sense  of  confidence  and  security  which 
belongs  to  the  man  who  had  kept  within  the  pale  of  the  law. 
And  in  its  place  something  had  entered,  something  which 
would  never  go;  a  dull  and  heavy,  voiceless  terror  which  hung 
upon  his  soul  like  lead. 

Its  oppression  was  so  awful  that  he  thought  of  flight.  He 
would  leave  England —  Yes;  and  rouse  suspicions  if  Denzil 
were  missed!  He  fought  against  the  desire  to  fly,  fought 
fiercely,  until  a  kind  of  passionate  resentment  of  bis  weak* 


1AJVE,  THE  TYRANT.  201 

aess  took  possession  of  him.     The  sight  of  the  Towers  in^ 
creased  this  feeling. 

"  No,  I'll  stay!'*  he  muttered,  between  his  clenched  teeth. 
"  I'll  stay  and  win  what  I've  fought  and  paid  for.  What  a 
price,  my  God,  what  a  price!  And  I'm  to  give  up  the  prize, 
and  let  tho  cost  go  for  nothing!  No!  I've  risked  the  gal- 
lows to-uight  to  get  you,  and  I'll  have  what  I've  paid  for. 
And  enjoy  it.  There  shall  be  none  of  the  remorse  that  the 
idiots  of  novelists  and  poets  maunder  about.  The  brute  de- 
served to  die — he  had  threatened  me  before,  would  have 
killed  me  to-night  if  I  hadn't  been  too  quick  for  him — he  de- 
coryed  to  die,  and  I  did  the  public  a  service  in  ridding  it  of  a 
vretch  who,  for  all  I  know,  was  stained  with  blood.  He  in- 
sisted upon  a  thousand  pounds,  five  hundred  a  year  to  hold 
his  tongue." 

He  stopped  dead  short  as  he  muttered  the  words  and  his 
face  worked  with  sharp  terror;  for  he  remembered  that  he 
had  left  the  cheque  signed  with  his  name  in  the  dead  man's 
trouser's  pocket,  and  that  the  memorandum,  the  promise  to 
pav,  and  the  stylographic  pen  were  lying  in  the  bracken. 

He  must  go  back  and  get  the  piece  of  paper  and  the  pen. 
He  must!  He  turned,  but  his  soul  revolted.  He  could  not 
go  back  to-night.  He  should  break  down,  go  mad,  if  he  saw 
the  spot  again  that  night.  He  would  wait  until  to-morrow — 
the  day  after:  the  paper  and  the  pen  must  have  fallen  under 
the  bracken  or  he  would  have  noticed  it;  and  no  one  was 
likely  to  discover  it. 

With  a  sickening  sinking  of  the  heart,  he  made  his  way  out 
of  the  woods  to  the  park.  Here  he  paused,  and  instead  of 
going  straight  to  that  part  of  the  terrace  from  which  he  had 
etarted,  he  made  a  detour  and  struck  the  main  road. 

He  sauntered  along  the  road,  going  away  from  the  house 
for  half  a  mile,  then  he  lit  a  cigar,  smoothed  his  hair  and 
carefully  examined  his  boots.  They  were  wet,  but  the  dew 
was  wet  and  would  satisfactorily  account  for  their  condition; 
and  there  was  no — no  blood  upon  him;  he  made  himself  cer 
tain  of  that  fact.  No  one  seeing  him,  as  he  walked  along 
leisurely,  smoking  one  of  Sir  Richard's  choice  Havanas,  would 
suspect  him  of  having  committed — 

'*  It  was  not  murder!"  he  told  himself.  "  It  was  in  self- 
defence;  it  was  justifiable  homicide,  nothing  worse." 

He  laid  this  flattering  unction  to  his  soul  as  he  proceeded, 
fighting  against  the  remorse  which  brooded  over  him.  Pres- 
ently he  reached  the  south  lodge. 

*  •'  was  kect  bv  one  of  the  gardeners,  a  nyyi  namnd  Hallett* 


202  10VE,  THE  TYBASTL 

•ad  he  was  leaning  against  the  open  door  smoking  a  pip& 
Re  hastened  to  the  gate  and  opened  it. 

"  A  fine  night,  sir,"  he  said,  touching  his  forehead. 
"  Yes;  beautiful,"  responded  Selby  Lay  ton.     He  was  pur> 
prised  by  the  evenness,  the  composure  of  his  voice;  but  hs 
had  his  voice  always  under  control,   thank  Heaven!    He 
stopped  and  looked  up  at  the  sky  appreciatingly. 

"  It  is  so  fine  that  I  was  tempted  to  go  for  a  stroll." 
"  Yes,  sir;  it's  a  glorious  night  for  a  walk,"  said  the  man- 
"  Yes,  it  is  indeed.     I  have  been  quite  a  long  way — to  the 
cross-roads — and  was  quite  reluctant  to  turn.     But  it  is  get- 
ting late."    He  laoked  at  his  watch.     "  Past  half-past  ten,  I 

cr>A   " 

o\?c« 

"  I  thought  ifc  had  struck  eleven,  sir,"  remarked  the  man. 

"  "No,  it  is  only  just  past  the  half  hour.  My  watch  is  an 
excellent  one — it  has  been  in  my  family  for  years — and  keeps 
accurate  time.  How  sweet  your  stocks  smell  I  Take  a  cigar, 
Hallett." 

He  offered  his  case,  and  the  man  took  a  cigar  with  profuse 
thanks  and  much  touching  of  the  forehead. 

"  That's  a  pretty  bit  of  road,  by  the  cross-roads,  Hallett," 
remarked  Selby  Layton,  lingering  as  if  he  were  loath  to  go 
and  inclined  for  a  chat.  "I've  often  noticed  it,  but  I  re- 
marked it  particularly  to-night.  I  mean  by  those  big  elms. 
Do  you  want  a  light?"  He  offered  his  match-box. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     Yes,  it  is  very  pretty.     Sir  Bichard's 
grandfather  planted  them  trees,  and  they're  very  much  ad 
mired. " 

"  Well,  I  must  be  going  in,"  said  Selby  Layton.  "  Good- 
night, Hallett." 

**  Good-night,  and  thank  you,  sir,"  responded  Hallett. 

Selby  Layton  sauntered  on.  His  heart  was  throbbing  heav- 
ily; there  was  a  pain  at  his  temple  as  if — as  if  some  one  had 
struck  him  a  blow  there;  but  he  walked  on  leisurely,  and  he 
began  to  hum  the  air  he  had  sung  in  the  drawing-room  that 
night.  But  was  it  really  he  who  had  sung  it,  and  was  it  only 
that  night?  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  quite  a  different 
person,  and  that  the  song  had  been  sung  weeks  and  weeks 
ago.  Surely  a  month,  a  year  of  months  had  passed  since  he 
had  sat  at  the  piano? 

As  he  reached  the  terrace  the  hall  door  opened,  and  Palmer 
st  ood  waiting  for  him.  Selby  Layton  set  his  teeth  sharply. 
His  meeting  with  the  lodge-keeper  had  been  an  ordeal,  and  be 
was  scarcely  prepared  for  another  that  nighty  but  he  nerved 
himself  for  it. 


LOVE,  TEE  TYBAOT.  203 

"  Ah,  thank  you,  Palmer!     I'm  afraid  I've  kept  you  up. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Palmer  ."  I'm  not  generally  in  bed  be- 
fore this,  and  I  saw  you  coming  up  the  drive.  I  did  think  I 
heard  you  at  the  back  just  now,  but  I  most  have  been  mis- 
taken," 

"  Heard  me?"  said  Seelby  Layton,  with  a  quick,  suspi- 
cious glance.  "  No;  I  came  up  the  drive,  as  you  saw.  I 
strolled  as  far  as  the  cross-roads. 

"  Just  so,  sir.  I  must  have  been  mistaken.  Can  I  bring 
you  anything — soda  and  whiskey?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  Palmer,"  he  replied,  pleasantly.  "  I 
will  go  straight  to  bed—  What's  that?" 

A  low  and  piercing  howl  had  pierced  the  silence. 

"  It's  Mr.  Gordon's  dog,  Bob,  sir,"  said  Palmer.  "  He's 
shut  up  in  the  stable,  and  he's  fretting  for  his  master." 

Selby  Layton  nodded. 

"  Ah,  yes;  poor  dog!"  he  said,  sympathetically.  "  I  hope 
he  will  not  keep  Miss  vancourt  awake.  Good-night,Palmer." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SELBY  LAYTON  lay  awake  the  whole  night.  Whenever  he 
closed  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  tall  figure  lying  in  the  bracken  with 
the  livid  mark  on  its  temple  and  its  loose-grinning  mouth, 
heard  the  dull  thud  of  the  gun  as  he  dealt  the  fatal  blow; 
and  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  it  was  to  stare  at  the  bed-cur- 
tains and  the  wall-paper,  which  seemed  alive  with  the  same 
hideous  shapes. 

All  through  the  night  he  told  himself  that  it  wasn't  murder, 
that  it  was  justifiable  homicide,  or,  at  the  worst,  manslaugh- 
ter; but  he  could  almost  see  the  judge  shaking  his  head  at 
the  plea,  and  hear  the  sentence  01  death. 

When  he  rose  hi  the  morning,  he  was  almost  afraid  to  look 
in  the  glass  lest  the  horrors  of  the  night  should  have  left  their 
record  on  his  face;  but  though  he  looked  white,  and  there 
were  marks  under  his  eyes,  when  he  had  finished  his  bath, 
something  of  his  pallor  and  the  dark  shadows  had  gone,  and 
he  went  down-stairs  looking  very  much  as  usual.  And  yet 
he  felt  the  change  in  his  inner  self  which  had  come  over  him 
immediately  after  the  murder.  He  felt  years  older,  and  as  if 
a  weight  were  bearing  down,  a  weight  from  which  he  should 
never  free  himself. 

He  had  risen  early,  and  he  took  his  straw  hat  from  the 
stand  in  the  hall  and  sauntered  out,  intending  to  stroll  up  and 
down  the  terrace  until  the  breakfast-bell  rang}  bat  be  had  00 


204  LOVE,   THE  TYEA35T. 

sooner  got  outside  than  he  felt  drawn  to  the  accursed  podk. 
He  fought  against  the  occult  influence  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  telling  himself  that  it  was  imperative  that  he  should  re- 
cover the  stylographic  pen  and  memorandum  which  he  had 
left  behind  him,  he  walked  leisurely  to  the  wood. 

It  was  a  warm  and  lovely  morning,  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  and  the  thrushes  and  linnets  were  filling  the  air  with 
music;  but  the  wretched  man  felt  cold,  and  shivered,  and  the 
singing  of  the  birds  irritated  and  jarred  on  him.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  scene  of  last  night's  tragedy,  he  began  to  trem- 
ble, and  once  he  stopped  as  if  he  could  not  go  farther;  but  he 
fought  against  the  weakness,  and  reached  the  spot  where 
Denzil  had  been  struck  down. 

It  seemed  hideously  familiar  to  him,  as  if  he  had  spent 
weeks  of  his  life  there,  and  knew  the  aspect  of  every  tree  and 
bush,  and  he  gazed  at  the  pool  with  a  fearful  fascination.  A 
light  wind  had  risen  in  the  night  and  spread  the  green  slime 
over  that  portion  of  the  water  the  boat  nad  disturbed,  and  the 
even  surface  of  green  looked  as  if  it  had  never  been  broken. 
Weakened  by  his  horrible  night's  vigil,  he  had  half  expected 
to  see  the  body  floating  on  the  top  of  the  space  of  clear  water, 
and  he  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  Really,  when  he  came  to  con- 
sider it  calmly  and  dispassionately,  there  was  no  need  for  him 
to  be  nervous  and  apprehensive.  The  pool  had  been  probably 
undisturbed  for  nearly  a  century,  and  would  remain  so  for 
another  one. 

Then  he  sought  for  the  missing  articles;  but  he  could  not 
find  them.  Though  he  had  rearranged  the  crushed  bracken, 
he  knew  the  exact  spot  where  the  wretched  man  had  fallen, 
and  he  had  expected  to  find  the  pen  and  piece  of  paper  with- 
out any  difficulty;  but  though  he  searched  with  feverish  eager- 
ness and  closeness,  he  could  not  put  his  hand  upon  them. 
The  sweat  began  to  start  out  upon  his  brow,  but  he  assure! 
himself  that  there  was  no  cause  for  fear.  Denzil  had  sta : 
to  his  feet  at  the  first  blow,  the  pen  and  paper  might  have  been 
ierked  from  his  hand  to  some  distance,  aud  he,  Selby  Lay  ton 
himself,  in  the  course  of  his  subsequent  movements,  have 
trodden  them  into  the  ground. 

At  any  rate,  if  they  were  so  completely  hidden  from  him  no 
one  else  was  likely  to  find  them;  he  could  not  stay  there  all 
the  morning  searching  for  them;  he  would  come  another 
tune. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  woods  bv  one  of  the  small  gates  whic!- 
opened  on  the  road,  a  man  was  coming  along  the  path.  S< 
Lavton  looked  at  him  sharply  and  sidewavs — fib».-,'i.!i  he  *.i 


LOVB,  THE  TYRANT.  205 

ways  eye  every  passer-by  with  suspicion?  was  the  question 
which  flashed  through  his  mind  —  and  he  saw  that  it  was  a 
dark-faced  young  fellow  with  rather  long  curly  hair.  Selby 
Lay  ton  had  had  the  young  man  pointed  out  to  him  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  remembered  his  name.  It  was  Dick  Reeve,  tibe 


e  touched  his  hat  to  Selby  Layton  as  he  came  abreast  of 
him,  and  Selby  gave  him  "  good-morning  "  pleasantly. 

"  Good-morning,  sir.  Can  you  tell  me  the  time?"  re- 
sponded Dick  Reeve,  respectfully  enough,  but  with  his  bold 
black  eyes  fixed  on  Selby  Lay  ton's  face. 

St-ibv  Layton  took  out  his  watch. 

"  Half  past  nine,"  he  said.  "  Dear  me,  I  shall  be  late  for 
breakfast!  Good-morning,  Reeve." 

44  Thank  you,  sir;  good-morning,"  said  Reeve.  "  It's  fine 
in  the  woods  now,  sir;  just  the  time  for  'em." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Good-morning,"  assented  Selby  Layton, 
suavely,  and  he  walked  on. 

Dick  Reeve  looked  after  the  retreating,  well-dressed  figure 
ifith  a  cutious  expression  in  his  black  eyes;  then  he  stopped 
anu  lit  a  short  clay  pipe,  and  leaning  over  the  gate  gazed  at 
the  woods  ruminatingty. 

"  A  nice,  well-spoken  gent,"  he  muttered.  "  And  as  cool 
as  a  cucumber;  but  they  say  all  real  gents  are  like  that" 

Esther  had  spent  almost  as  bad  a  night  as  Selby  Layton; 
but  she  had  been  haunted  not  by  the  face  and  form  of  a  mur- 
dered man,  but  by  the  vision  of  Jack  Gordon  on  his  cheerless 
and  solitary  tramp.  Bob,  howling  softly  in  the  stable,  would 
have  prevented  her  forgetting  his  master,  even  if  she  had 
tried,  and  she  rose  pale  and  languid  with  two  facts  predomi- 
nant in  her  mind:  Jack  Gordon  was  leaving,  or  had  left  Van- 
court  —  for  ever!  —  and  she  had  half  promised  to  marry  Selby 
Layton.  That  gentleman  had  not  returned  from  his  morning 
stroll  when  the  two  ladies  sat  down  to  breakfast,  for  that 
meal  at  most  country  houses  is  a  movable  feast;  but  presently 
he  came  in,  looking  all  the  better  for  his  walk, 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  begun. 
I  was  tempted  by  the  freshness  of  the  morning  to  take  a 
stroll.  It  is  a  typically  English  summer  day." 

He  pressed  Esther's  hand  and  looked  at  her  with  a  barely 
concealed  devotion;  but  she  scarcely  raised  her  e)es,  which 
were  bent  upon  her  letters. 

'  You  are  looking  rather  pale  this  morning,  Mr.  Layton," 
mid  Miss  Worcester  as  he  took  his  seat  and  helned  himself  to 


206  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

toasted  ham  with  ostentatious  eagerness,  though  he  felt  as  if 
every  mouthful  would  choke  him. 

"  Am  I?"  he  responded.  "  Are  you  sure  it  is  not  your 
fancy,  my  dear  Miss  Worcester?  I  feel  in  the  most  perfect 
health,  and  I  am  as  ravenous  as  the  proverbial  hunter.  And 
no  wonder!  This  air  is  so  invigorating!  I  don't  think  there 
is  anything  like  a  mixture  of  sea  and  moorland  air." 

"  You  were  rather  late  last  night,  were  you  not?"  she  said, 
as  she  poured  out  his  coffee.  "  I  was  rather  wakeful,  and  I 
heard  you  come  upstairs." 

"  Not  very  late,  I  think,"  he  said,  smoothly.  "  It  was  a 
glorious  night,  and  I  wandered  on  to  the  road  and  got  as  far 
as  the  sign-post  at  the  cross-roads.  Ah,  yes;  and  I  was  de- 
tained for  a  little  time  talking  with  Hallett!  But  it  was  only 
half-past  ten  when  I  came  in." 

Miss  Worcester  looked  up  with  some  surprise. 

"  Past  eleven,  I  think,  Mr.  Layton?" 

"  No,"  he  insisted,  gently,  with  his  persuasive  smile.  "  I 
compared  my  watch,  which  keeps  excellent  time,  with  the  hall 
clock." 

"  I  thought  it  was  later.  I  must  have  been  mistaken. 
What  a  number  of  letters  you  have  this  morning,  Esther! 
Anything  important  or  of  interest?" 

"  No,"  she  replied,  indifferently.  "  Nothing.  Oh,  yes;  there 
is  a  letter  from  Messrs.  Grange  &  Woodruff,  the  engineer, 
about  the  Hawk's  Pool." 

Selby  Layton  was  on  the  point  of  raising  his  coffee  cup,  but 
he  set  it  down,  and  the  blood  ebbed  from  his  face.  Coinci- 
dence has  a  long  arm,  but  who  could  have  expected  that  it 
would  thrust  it  out  so  soon  as  this! 

"  The  Hawk's  Pool?"  said  Miss  Worcester,  interrogatively. 
"  I  don't  know  where  that  is." 

"  It  is  the  pool  or  lake  in  the  woods,"  said  Esther,  languid- 
ly. "  You  know  it,  surely?" 

"  Oh,  you  mean  that  stagnant  piece  of  water  with  the  boat- 
house  beside  it?"  said  Miss  Worcester. 

Esther  nodded. 

"  Yes;  that  is  it.  It  is  stagnant,  and  that  is  the  trouble. 
It  is  very  unhealthy,  and — Mr.  Gordon" — she  hesitated  a 
moment  before  she  pronounced  the  name — "  said  that  it  was 
very  unhealthy,  and  that  it  ought  to  be  drained  dry  and  the 
space  replanted,  or,  at  any  rate,  a  stream  ought  to  run  from 
it  to  the  sea.  He  said  that  it  would  irrigate  and  improve  the 
park  meadows  if  it  were  properly  treated.  He  suggested 
Messrs.  (irange  &  Woodruff,  and  I  wrote  to  them," 


LOVE,   THE  TYRJLNT. 

-  Quite  right,  my  dear  Esther,"  said  Miss  Worceetei.  "  I 
remember  the  place — a  weird  and  ghastly  spot.  Have  yon 
seen  it,  Mr.  Layton?" 

He  looked  up  from  his  plate. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  was  not  listening.  No,  I  have  not. 
A  sheet  of  water,  isn't  it?  Bather  a  pity  to  disturb  it,  I 
should  think,  especially  as  it  would  cost  a  great  deal  of 
money." 

"  Would  it?'*  asked  Miss  Worcester.  Esther  was  reading 
her  other  letters. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  business-like  air.  "  It  is  sure 
to  do  so.  I  know  these  civil  engineers.  Once  you  give  them 
a  footing  in  your  place  there  is  no  getting  rid  of  them.  They 
will  not  be  content  with  draining — what  is  it?" 

"  The  Hawk's  Pool,"  said  Estner. 

"Ah,  yes!  the  Hawk's  Pool;  but  they  will  want  to  trans- 
form the  rest  of  the  estate." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  that,"  said  Esther,  languidly. 

"  Then  don't  let  them  gain  a  footing,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh.  "  It  would  be  as  bad  as  letting  a  sanitary  company 
survey  the  house;  they  always  find  innumerable  *  death- 
traps,' as  they  call  them,  and  they  are  never  satisfied  until  they 
have  turned  the  place  topsy-turvy." 

"  Oh,  pray,  let  it  alone,  my  dear  Esther,"  said  Miss 
Worcester. 

Esther  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Mr.  Gordon  said  that  something  ought  to  be  done  with 
it,"  she  said.  "  But  there  is  no  hurry,  I  suppose." 

Selby  Layton  breathed  more  freely. 

"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Gordon  is  a  bit  of  an  iconoclast  and  re- 
former," he  said,  with  a  slight  sneer.  "  The  pool  does  not 
appear  to  have  done  much  harm  up  to  the  present,  and  it 
certainly  is  picturesque." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  had  not  seen  it,"  remarked 
Esther,  casually. 

"  I  have  not,"  he  returned  smoothly.  "  I  am  relying  on 
my  imagination  and  Miss  Worcester's  description." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  hurry,"  said  Esther,  indifferently.  "  I 
will  go  and  look  at  it." 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  to-day?"  asked  Miss  Worcester, 
who  liked  to  have  her  plans  cut  and  dried. 

Esther  rose  with  an  expression  of  determination  on  her 
face.  She  had  resolved  that  nothing  would  induce  her  to  go 
through  another  tete-a-tete  with  Mr.  Selby  Layton. 


208  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  1  am  going  to  the  village,"  she  said.  "  You  and  Mr 
Layton  may  make  plans  while  I  am  gone." 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  which  forbade  him  U 
offer  to  accompany  her,  and  he  was  afraid  to  make  the  sug- 
gestion. And  indeed  he  wanted  to  be  alone  to  face  the  situa- 
tion, to  consider  his  position.  It  was  not  an  unpromising  one 
by  any  means:  Denzil  was — was  out  of  the  way,  silenced  for- 
ever, and  he,  Selby  Layton,  was  almost  the  affianced  of  the 
mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers. 

Esther  put  on  her  hat,  and,  almost  mechanically,  walked 
tc  the  home  farm.  She  assured  herself  that  she  wanted  to 
see  Nettie,  between  whom  and  herself  a  very  strong  affection 
had  grown  up;  but  she  knew  in  her  innermost  heart  that  she 
wanted  to  know  whether  Mr.  Gordon  was  still  at  Vancourt. 

She  went  up  the  garden-path  of  the  lodge  and  knocked  at 
the  door,  and,  Mrs.  Martin's  voice  crying  "  Come  in!"  en- 
tered. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  folding  some  snowy  linen  on  the  table,  but 
»t  Esther's  entrance  she  drew  a  chair  forward  for  the  young 
mistress,  as  she  called  Esther. 

*'  And  how  is  Martin?"  she  asked,  as  she  seated  herself. 

"  He's  getting  oh,  miss,"  replied  Mis.  Martin.  "  He's 
about  the  farm  somewhere.  I  don't  know  as  he's  strong 
enough  yet." 

"  Then  it  is  very  unwise  of  him,"  said  Esther.  "  He  will 
probablv  make  himself  bad  again." 

"  Yes,  miss;  very  likely,"  responded  Mrs.  Martin.  "  But, 
you  see,  he's  obliged  to  get  about  now,  fur  Mr.  Gordon  has 
gone." 

Esther's  heart  sank,  and -the  sunlight  that  poured  in  through 
the  window  seemed  suddenly  to  grow  pale  and  lose  its 
warmth. 

"  Mr.  Gordon  gone?"  she  asked,  in  a  still  voice. 

"  Yes,  miss.  He  went  last  night,  guite  sudden  like,  as  yon 
may  say.  I  had  no  idea  he  was  going  to  leave,  and  yet  1 
wasn't  surprised." 

"  Why?"  asked  Esther. 

'*  Well,  you  see,  miss,  I  always  suspicioned  that  Mr.  Gor- 
don wasn't  like  one  of  ourselves;  that  ne  was  what  you  might 
Call  a  gentleman,  and  that  he  would  get  tired  of  working  on 
a  farm;  and  when  he  came  last  night  and  said  that  he  was 
going,  though  was  mortally  grieved,  I  wasn't  surprised." 

Esther  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Her  sense  of  Joss  mada 
her  speechless. 

**  jToo  will  Tpiaa  him?"  5hft  said* 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT  209 

Mrs.  Mat-cm  nodded. 

"  Yes,  miss,  we  shall,  all  of  us.  I  don't  know  wfcat  Martin 
mil  do  without  him.  He  " — meaning  Martin — "  seems  as  if 
he  had  lost  his  right  hand,  which  he  has;  and  Nettie — wells, 
there,  Nettie  is  main  'mazed." 

"  'Mazed  "  is  the  word  in  Vancourt  which  means  "  dazed  " 
and  "  bewildered." 

At  this  moment  Nettie  came  in.  She  ran  to  Esther  with  a 
aerious,  woe-begone  face,  and  uttered  her  plaint  at  once  and 
without  preamble: 

"  I  want  Jack!"  she  wailed.  "  Mother  says  he's  gone. 
But  I  want  him,  I  want  him!" 

Esther's  heart  echoed  the  child's  cry. 

"  You  mustn't  fret,  Nettie,"  she  said,  as  she  lifted  the 
child  on  her  knee.  "  He  may  come  back  presently!" 

"But  I  want  him  now!"  said  Nettie,  with  infantile  in- 
sistence. "  Mother  says  that  he  tissed  me  *  dood-bye;'  but 
what's  the  use  of  that  when  I  want  him!" 

Esther  tried  to  console  the  child,  but  Nettie's  grief  was  not 
to  be  assuaged,  and  Esther,  as  she  left  the  house,  found  her- 
self still  echoing  Nettie's  cry:  "  I  want  nim,  I  want  him!" 

She  lingered  at  the  gate  talking  to  Mrs.  Martin. 

"  At  what  time  did  Mr.  Gordon  go?"  she  asked,  witb 
affected  indifference. 

"  Quite  late,  miss.  Martin  had  gone  to  bed.  Oh,  it  might 
be  eleven  or  thereabouts.  1  was  just  thinking  of  shutting  up, 
and  in  he  came;  and  he  looked  so  pale  and  upset  that  I 
thought  something  was  the  matter,  and  I  up  and  asked  him. 
Then  he  said  he  was  going — and  he  went.  It's  terrible  sud- 
den, and  I  don't  know  what  Martin  will  do,  he's  so  lame 
still;  and  as  for  Nettie — well,  you've  seen  her,  miss." 

Esther  tried  to  look  indifferent  and  at  ease. 

"  Oh,  Martin  must  get  another  foreman,"  she  said. 

She  walked  on  aimlessly,  Nettie's  cry  still  in  her  ears — and 
in  her  mind.  The  brightness  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  the 
sunshine,  a  sadness  seemed  to  reign  over  everything.  The 
thought  that  perhaps  she  should  never  see  him  again  brought 
a  dull  agony  to  her  heart. 

Presently  she  found  herself  at  the  end  of  the  village,  op- 
posite the  dilapidated  cottages,  and  she  saw  Kate  Transom 
shaking  a  table-cloth  at  the  door.  The  sight  of  the  girl  was 
not  welcome  to  her — for  was  not  Kate  Transom  engaged  to 
Jack  Gordon? — but  she  hesitated,  and  quickly  opened  the 
gate  and  walked  up  the  path. 

Kate  stood,  with  the  table-cloth  in  her  hand,  waiting  tb<? 


210  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

approach  of  the  young  mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers,  and 
Esther  noticed  not  only  the  girl's  undoubted  beauty,  with  her 
wealth  of  bronze  hair  and  her  large  eyes,  but  the  pallor  and 
weary  expression  of  Kate's  face. 

"  How  do  yon  do,  Miss  Transom?"  she  said,  as  pleasantlj 
and  carelessly  as  she  could.  "  What  a  lovely  day!  Why  did 
you  not  come  up  to  see  me  on  Saturday?  I  was  afraid  you 
were  not  well." 

Kate's  pale  face  flushed,  and  she  averted  her  eyes  from 
Esther's  gaze. 

"  I  was  busy,"  she  said,  not  sullenly,  but  in  a  still,  expres- 
sionless voice. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Esther.  "  Perhaps  you  will  come  next 
Wednesday?"' 

Kate  made  no  response,  but  folded  the  table-clcth  and 
stood  aside. 

"  Won't  you  come  in,  miss?"  she  said,  not  over  pressingly. 

But  Esther  went  in.  The  girl  was  the  fiancee  of  Jack  Gor- 
don, and  Esther  felt  that  morning  fascinated  by  anything 
connected  with  him.  She  disliked — she  would  rather  have 
died  than  admitted  that  she  was  jealous  of — Kate  Transom, 
and  yet  she  felt  constrained  to  speak  to  her. 

"  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Fulford  about  the  repairs  to  your  cot- 
tage," she  said,  "  and  they  will  be  seen  to.  He  has  oeen  very 
busy,  or  they  would  have  been  done  before.  I  am  very  sorry 
they  have  been  neglected.  Is  your  father  at  home?" 

"  No,  miss,"  said  Kate,  in  a  dull,  lifeless  voice.  "  He  has 
gone  to  market  with  some  steers  for  Mr.  Gordon." 

"  For  Mr.  Martin,  you  mean,"  said  Esther,  quietly.  "  Mr. 
Gordon  has  gone,  you  know." 

Kate  was  bending  over  the  fire,  but  at  these  words  she 
straightened  herself  and  turned  her  head. 

"  Gone!  Mr.  Gordon — gone!"  she  echoed  in  a  still  voice, 
her  face  growing  paler. 

"  Yes,"  said  Esther.     "  He  left  last  night." 

"Last  night?    Why?" 

Esther  coloured. 

"  To  better  himself,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak 
carelessly.  "  He  was  only  engaged  while  Mr.  Martin  was  ill, 
you  know." 

"  Gonel    Last  night!"   echoed  Kate.      She  stood  erect, 
her  eyes  fixed  vacantly  on  the  window,  her  face  white  and 
strained.     "  Why  last  night?    Why  didn't  he  wait  until  the 
morning?" 
.    Bather  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  an  assumption  of  IB 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  211 

difference  .vfiich  might  have  deceived  a  more  sophisticated 
girl  than  Kate. 

"  I  don't  know.  Fancy,  I  suppose.  He  left  quite  late, 
and  quite  suddenly.  Mrs.  Martin  did  not  know  that  he  was 
going. " 

Kate  turned  her  eyes  upon  Esther's  face. 

"  Did  you  know?"  she  asked. 

Esther  felt  herself  colouring,  and  told  a  white  lie. 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  Did  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Kate,  vacantly.  "  Left  last  night,  last  night." 

Then  suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  some  unwelcome  sight. 

Esther  rose  and  approached  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked.  "  Why  do  you  say 
that?  I  know  vou  must  be  sorry,  but — why  are  you  ao 
frightened?" 

Kate  tore  her  hands  from  her  face  and  looked  at  Esther 
almost  defiantly. 

"  I'm  not  frightened!"  she  said,  fiercely.  "  Why  should 
I  be?  What's  Mr.  Gordon  to  me,  and  why  shouldn't  he  go 
sudden-like  and  when  he  wanted  to!" 

Esther  recoiled  from  the  sudden  outburst  of  passion. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  if  I've  said  anything  to  make  jou  angry,*' 
she  said,  "  anything  to  wound  you.  I  thought  you  knew, 
that  you  had  seen  Mr.  Gordon  lately." 

"  It's  a  lie!  I've  not!"  Kate  burst  out.  "  I  ve  not  seen 
him  since — for  days!  Why  do  you  say  I  have?  I  know  noth- 
ing about  him!  I  don't  know  why  he's  gone,  and — and  I 
don't  want  to  know!  If  you've  come  to  ask  me  questions, 
that's  my  answer.  I've  nothing  to  tell,  nothing.  Please  go, 
Miss  Van  court!" 

Esther  rose,  pale  and  troubled,  and  with  a  strong  sense  of 
resentment. 

"  I  did  not  come  to  ask  you  any  questions,"  she  said,  with 
quiet  dignity.  "  I  merely  mentioned  that  Mr.  Gordon  had 
gone.  I  thought  you  would  know  it,  seeing  that  he  and  you 
were — were  such  friends." 

She  could  not  bring  herself  to  say  "  engaged." 

Kate  stared  beyond  her  visitor  with  a  vacant,  half-terrified 
gaze. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  hoarsely.  "  Mr. 
Gordon's  coming  and  going  is  nothing  to  me.  I  wish  you'd 
go,you — you  fret  me!" 

Esther  rose,  flushed  and  troubled. 


212  LOVE,  THE  TTEAim 

"  Of  conrse  I  will  go,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sorry  *  jiatfs 
you,  bat  I  thought  you  knew — " 

"  I  know  nothing,  nothing!"  broke  in  Elate,  vehemently; 
and  the  words  followed  Esther  as  she  left  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHEN  Esther  had  gone,  Kate  sank  into  a  chair  as  if 
all  her  strength  had  left  her.  Her  face  was  white,  her  breath 
came  in  quick,  laboured  gasps,  and  her  hands,  clasped  tightly, 
worked  and  writhed  as  if  she  were  in  physical  pain. 

The  bare  fact  that  Jack  had  gone,  that  she  might  never  see 
him  again,  brought  her  misery  enough;  but  the  manner  of 
his  going,  its  suddenness,  and  some  of  the  incidents  attending 
it,  of  which  she  alone  was  cognisant,  caused  her  an  additional 
agony — an  agony  of  terror  and  dread. 

She  knew  that  he  had  gone  into  the  woods;  she  had  seen 
him  afterwards:  his  hands  were  red  with  blood,  his  manner 
had  been  that  of  a  man  upset  and  ill  at  ease;  he  had  tried  to 
concen.1  himself  from  her,  and  when  she  had  been  shocked  by 
the  blood  upon  his  hands,  he  had  given  an  explanation  which, 
in  the  light  of  his  sudden  departure,  seemed  insufficient  and 
far-fetched. 

Every  word  of  the  conversation  between  her  father  and  the 
stranger,  which  she  had  heard  as  she  crouched  behind  the 
door,  recurred  to  her — indeed,  it  was  burned  into  her  brain 
never  to  be  forgotten.  Had  Mr.  Gordon  and  the  strange  man 
met?  If  such  a  meeting  between  these  two  foes  had  taken 
place  in  the  woods — ! 

She  shuddered  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The 
man  had  uttered  threats  against  Mr.  Gordon;  it  was  almost 
impossible  for  them  to  meet  without  coming  to  blows.  Had 
the  man  attacked  Mr.  Gordon  whom  he  feared  and  hated?  If 
so,  she  knew  Jack  too  well  not  to  feel  convinced  that  he  would 
defend  himself,  that  he  would  return  a  blow,  and  with  in- 
terest. 

Her  heated  brain  pictured  the  scene  which  her  fears  coated. 
Mr.  Gordon  would  be  attacked  by  the  man,  would  strike 
back,  would  fight  with  all  his  strength,  which  Kate  knew 
was  very  great  and  beyond  that  of  most  men.  Had  he  in- 
j  ured  the  man,  had  he  killed  him? 

A  low  cry  burst  from  her  lips  as  the  question  rose  to  her 
imad.  Why  should  Mr.  Gordon  take  flight — for  his  suddea 
uuparture  presented  itself  as  nothing  less  than  flight  to  her—- 
if the  man  was  not  dead? 


LOVE,  TK3  TYRANT.  21. 

And  yet  her  pride  in  Jack  rose  in  revolt  zi  the  idea;  eh 
could  scarcely  imagine  him  seeking  safecy  in  flight  from  th,: 
consequence  of  any  act  he  had  committed:  but  murder — they 
would  call  it  murder — was  so  terrible  a  thing  that  even  so 
brave  a  man  as  Mr.  Gordon  might  quail  before  iiz  dread 
penalty. 

Then  a  fresh  fear  shook  her:  had  any  one  beside  herself 
seen  him  that  night  after  his  return  from  the  woods,  and  in — • 
in  that  condition?  If  not,  if  no  one  had  seen  the  encounter 
which  she  felt  certain  had  taken  place,  or  Mr.  Gordon  after- 
wards, then  she  was  the  only  person  whose  evidence  could  tell 
against  him.  Had  she  aroused  Miss  Vancourt's  suspicions  by 
the  agitation  she  had  displayed  on  hearing  of  his  sudden  de- 
parture? What  had  she  said?  Let  her  think!  Oh,  why 
hadn't  she  held  her  tongue,  mastered  her  emotion,  and  re* 
ceived  the  news  with  seeming  indifference? 

She  rose  and  paced  up  and  down,  her  hands  pressed  to  her 
temples;  then  suddenly  she  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
up,  as  if  a  ray  of  light  had  flashed  across  the  terrible  dark- 
ness. After  all,  was  she  not  torturing  herself  without  suffi- 
cient cause?  They  might  not  have  met,  or  the  man  might 
have  been  hurt,  but  not  seriously;  might,  indeed,  still  be  at 
the  Black  Ciow,  alive,  though  perhaps  badly  boat.en. 

Acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  driven  by  her  fear 
and  dread  to  action  of  some  sort  or  other,  she  caught  up  her 
sun-bonnet,  left  the  cottage,  and  went  quickly  hi  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Black  Crow.  She  walked  fast  at  first,  but  pres- 
ently, as  it  occurred  to  her  that  her  haste  might  attract  notice, 
she  slackened  her  pace. 

And  all  the  way,  though  she  tried  to  persuade  herself  that 
her  fears  were  groundless,  she  felt  convinced  that  some  terri- 
ble catastrophe  had  happened. 

As  she  neared  the  little  tumble-down  inn,  she  saw  the  land- 
lord leaning  against  the  porch  smoking,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  He  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  to  give  her  "  good- 
day,"  and  Kate  stopped  as  if  casually. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Grice,"  she  said,  forcing  a  smile, 
whil  her  heart  beat  so  that  she  could  scarcely  keep  her  voice 
steady.  "  Is  my  father  inside?" 

Grice  shook  his  head. 

"  No;  haven't  seen  him  for  quite  a  goodish  time,  Miss 
Transom,"  he  said.  "  And  I  don't  get  so  many  customers 
as  not  to  miss  'em." 

"Sate  nodded,  controlling  her  quivering  lips. 

beard  you'd  been  very  busy  lately,  Mr.  Grice;  tiiat 


214  LOVE,  THE  TYRAN7 

you'd  bad  people  stopping  here,  quite  like  as  if  it  was 
hotel." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  the  gentleman  as  put  up  here,"  he  said. 
"  Yes:  'tain't  often  as  us  has  a  visitor;  but  he's  gone  now; 
left  yesterday.  Bum  kind  o'  gentleman  he  was;  one  o'  them 
silent  and  keep-theirselves-to-theirsels  kind.  Not  but  what 
he  did'nt  pay  his  shot  all  right.  Some  o'  them  Lunnon  men 
forget  to  do  that." 

"  Oh,  has  he  gone  back  to  London?"  asked  Kate. 

Griee  nodded,  and  Kate's  sense  of  relief  was  so  great,  so 
Intense,  that  it  almost  broke  down  her  self-command;  but  at 
the  man's  next  words  all  her  misery  came  crashing  down  upoa. 
her  again. 

"  Leastways,  I  think  so.  He  said  he  was  going  by  the 
seven-fifteen  from  Barminster." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  Didn't  he  go?"  she  asked,  with  a 
catch  in  her  breath. 

Grice  plugged  his  pipe  and  eyed  it  thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  it  were  this  way,  Miss  Transom.  Happened  that 
the  gent  gave  me  a  bad  two-shilling  bit  when  he  paid  his  bill. 
Two  shillings  is  two  shillings  now-a-days,  and  as  I  was  going 
into  Barminster,  I  drove  my  little  pony — that's  a  fine  pony  if 
you  like  now — " 

"  Yes,"  said  poor  Kate,  "  it  is  a  very  good  one,  I  know. 
I've  heard  my  father  speak  of  it." 

"  Yes,  he  can  get  into  Barminster  in  fifty-five  minutes  any 
day,  and  no  whip  neither!" 

"  And  did  you  catch  the  train  last  night?"  asked  Kate, 
quivering  all  over. 

Grice  nodded. 

"  Yes,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  spare." 

"  And  you  saw  the  gentleman,  and  got  your  two  shillings 
changed?"  she  said,  catching  at  the  hope;  but  Grice  shook 
his  head. 

"  No,  I  didn't,  for  he  wasn't  there.  There  was  no  sign  of 
him." 

Kate  put  out  her  hand  and  caught  at  the  trellis-vrork  of  the 
porch. 

"  Are  you  sure?"  she  asked,  as  steadily,  as  casually,  as  she 
could.  "  He  might  have  got  into  the  train  without  your  see- 
ing him,  Mr.  Grice." 

Gnce  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

"  Not  he,"  he  said.  "  I  looked  into  every  carriage,  for  I 
wanted  that  two-shilling  oit  changed;  but  he  warn't  there," 

"  It  was  the  last  train  to  London?"  said  Kate* 


I0VB,  THE  TYRAKT.  215 

"  Yes,  misa  Bat  it's  likely  enough  that  he  walked  on  to 
Critchett  Cross,  the  next  station.  It's  almost  as  near  as  Bar- 
minster.  Howsoever,  I'm  two  shillings  short,  and  in  these 
hard  times — " 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Kate. 

She  walked  on  and  turned  on  the  road  just  beyond  the 
hotel.  Her  fear  and  dread  were  in  the  ascendancy  again. 
There  was  no  reason  why  the  man  should  go  to  Crichett  Cross 
Station.  He  had  not  left  Vancourt  that  night,  though  he 
had  left  the  inn. 

She  walked  back  slowly,  feeling  faint,  sick,  with  the  haunt- 
ing, brooding  terror  of  evil  that  her  mind  pictured.  As  she 
gained  the  village  street,  a  man  came  out  of  the  lane  opposite 
the  row  of  old  cottages.  It  was  one  of  the  underkeepers 
named  Johnson.  Kate,  though  she  seemed  to  scarcely  glance 
at  him,  saw  that  he  carried  two  guns — one  over  his  shoulder 
and  the  other  in  his  left  hand. 

She  stopped,  with  a  leap  of  the  heart — a  passing  child 
would  have  caused  her  nervous  tremors  that  morning — and 
Johnson  nodded. 

"  Good-day  to  you,  Miss  Kate,"  he  said.  "  Rare  fine 
weather,  beant  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate.  "  Why  are  you  carrying  two  guns? 
You  can't  fire  them  off  at  once." 

Johnson  laughed. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  couldn't  if  I  was  so  minded,"  he 
said.  "  I  seed  a  man  do  it  at  Barminster  Fair,  and  he  hit  the 
target  with  both  of  'em,  too.  But  this  'ere  one  beant  mine. 
I  found  it  in  Vancourt  woods." 

"  Oh!"  said  Kate. 

She  had  recognised  Jack's  gun  by  a  notch  on  the  stock- 
one  of  those  small  marks  which  would  escape  the  notice  of 
most  persons — but  there  was  scarcely  a  detail  of  Jack's  dress 
or  belongings  which  had  escaped  the  lynx-like  eyes  of  Kate, 
the  woman  who  loved  him. 

"  I'm  told  it's  Mr.  Gordon's,  and  I'm  taking  it  to  him," 
said  Johnson.  "  It's  a  good  gun,  and  I  can't  think  how  he 
came  to  leave  it  there — forget  it,  as  one  may  say." 

Kate  smiled:  no  one  can  guess  what  that  smile  cost  her. 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,"  she  said. 

Johnson,  with  some  surprise,  handed  her  the  gun,  and  she 
took  it  and  looked  it  up  and  down. 

"  It's  not  Mr.  Gordon's,"  she  said,  confidently. 

"  Not  Mr.  Gordon's.     Then  whose  is  it?"  he  asked. 

Kate  was  silent  for  a  moment    She  knew  how  terribly  im> 


216  fiOlTE,  THE  TTBANT. 

portant  her  next  words  might  prove.  Her  brain  seemed  pa 
fire,  her  heart  was  beating  fast  and  furiously,  but  her  voice 
was  quite  calm  and  steadV. 

"  It  is  Dick  Reeve's,"  LIS  said,  on  the  impulse  of  the  mo= 
ment. 

Johnson's  round,  rubicund  face  became  suddenly  grave. 

"  Oh,  Dick  Reeve's!"  he  said.  "  Then  he  was  in  the  wood., 
last  night!  Thai's  bad  for  Muster  Dick." 

Kate  drew  nearer  to  him,  her  beautiful  face  full  of  entreaty 
and  coaxing.  . 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  it  is.  But  you  won't  be  hard  upon  him, 
Mr.  Johnson?  Lot  him  off — say  nothing  about  it  just  this 
once — to  please  me!" 

The  >oung  fellow  hesitated.  He  admired  Kate,  as  most  of 
the  men  did,  and  this  unusual  amiability — for  she  was  gen- 
erally cold  and  reserved,  keeping  them  at  arms'  length — had 
its  effect  upon  him. 

"  I  ought  to  take  this  gun  to  Mr.  Fulford,  the  steward, 
and  report — I  really  ought,  you  know,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"  You  know  that's  mv  duty." 

She  drew  closer  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  gun,  which 
he  had  taken  from  her. 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  But  jou  won't  this  tune.  No  one 
has  seen  the  gun  but  you?" 

She  put  it  interrogatively,  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No;  as  it  happened,  you're  the  first  person  I've  seen 
since  I  left  the  woods." 

"  Very  well,''  she  exclaimed,  in  alow,  persuasive  voice,  her 
great  eyes  dwelling  on  him  coaxingly.  "  Give  the  gun  to  me, 
and  forget  that  you  found  it."  She  drew  it  from  his  reluct- 
antly yielding  hand,  and  as  he  still  continued  to  shake  his 
head,  she  added:  "  See,  it  hasn't  been  fired;  it's  loaded  still. 
He—he  might  not  have  been  poaching,  might  just  have  been 
passing  through  the  wood — it's  a  short  cut,  you  know,  from 
the  cross-road — " 

Johnson  laughed  incredulously. 

"  Dick  Reeve's  a  lucky  man  to  have  you  to  plead  for  him, 
Miss  Katel"  he  said,  rather  ruefully  and  wistfully.  "  But 
there,  you've  got  the  gun  and  there's  an  end  of  it " 

"  You  won't  say  anything,  tell  any  one — especially  Dick 
Reeve?  You  promise!"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  but  with  an 
agony  of  anxiety. 

The  young  fellow  laughed  rather  grimly. 

"It's  not  very  likely,  for  my  own  sake,"  He  said.  *l 
thought  the  arnn  was  Mr.  Gordon's. " 


LOVE,  THB  TYRANT.  217 

**  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  I  know  it  well.  It's  not 
his.  Good-bye,  and  thank  you!  You  won't  forget  you 
promise." 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  a  smile  which  dazzled  himr 
then  she  drew  her  hand  from  his  tightening  grasp,  and  carry- 
ing the  gun  in  proper  fashion  went  into  the  cottage.  Closing 
the  door  she  sank  on  to  a  chair,  eyeing  the  thing  sideways  as 
if  it  were  a  kind  of  basilisk.  Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
shot  the  bolt  in  the  door,  and  taking  up  the  gun,  with  a 
shudder,  examined  it  closely. 

It  was  loaded,  as  she  had  said;  whatever  had  happened  to 
the  man,  he  had  not  been  shot.  She  searched  for  some  traces 
of  blood,  but  there  was  not  a  spot  on  stock  or  barrel.  She 
stood  for  a  moment  pondering,  then  she  went  out  by  the  back 
way,  and  looking  round  cautiously,  stole  to  an  old  disused 
well  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  small  garden,  carefully 
lifted  a  piece  of  the  broken  wooden  cover,  softly  lowered  the 
gun  into  the  well,  and  replaced  the  wood  and  grass  in  their 
former  positions. 

As  she  stood  there,  with  the  sunlight  streaming  on  her  pale 
face  and  bronze-gold  hair,  she  was  for  the  moment  conscious 
of  the  danger  she  was  incurring,  the  risk  to  Dick  Reeve  and 
to  herself;  but  she  felt  no  compunction,  no  remorse;  he  was  in 
peril,  and  to  save  him  she  would  have  sacrificed  a  hunared 
l)ick  Beeves,  and  laid  down  her  own  life  without  hesitation  or 
regret. 

Was  there  anything  else  she  could  do?  Should  she  go  to 
the  cottage  and  see  if,  in  the  hurry  of  his  flight,  Mr.  Gordon 
had  left  any  trace,  any  clue  which  might  endanger  him? 

A  voice,  calling  to  her,  made  her  start,  but  she  managed 
to  turn  slowly,  leisurely,  though  the  voice  was  Dick  Reeve's. 

He  was  leaning  on  the  low  wall,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  his 
dark  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  an  expression  in  them  which  she 
ha  bed;  for  when  a  woman  loves  as  Kate  did,  she  loathes  the 
admiration  in  the  e\es  of  all  men  save  those  of  the  man  who 
holds  her  heart. 

"  Father  in,  Kate?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  He's  gone  to  market.  How  hot  it  is! 
I  must  go  in." 

"  Half  a  moment!"  he  said,  and  he  vaulted  the  wall  and 
approached  her. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  asked,  impatiently.  "  I'm  verv  busy 
this  morning,  and  I  can't  stay  gossiping." 

"  I  won't  keep  you  long,"  he  said.  "  You're  always  busy, 
cod  want  to  run  away  when  I  come." 


218  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

She  put  up  her  nand  to  shield  her  eyes  from  the  ran, 
half  turned  away  from  him. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?"  she  asked.  "  I've  some  cakes  in  the 
oven — " 

"  Let  'em  bide  for  a  moment,*'  he  said,  with  more  of  de- 
termination in  his  voice  than  usual.  "  I  don't  often  have  a 
chance  of  seeing  you  alone.  Elate,  I've  got  some  good  news 
for  you." 

"  Good  news?" 

In  the  concentration  of  her  mind  upon  the  one  beloved 
object  she,  of  course,  thought  his  good  news  must  concern  Mr, 
Gordon. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  nod.  "  I'm  going  to  give  up  " — 
he  looked  around  cautiously — "  the  poachin  !  I've  been  to 
the  woods  for  the  last  time — leastways,  after  the  game." 

Her  heart  fell  again. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said,  coldly  enough.  "  Glad 
for  your  own  sake,  Dick." 

"  And  not  for  yours?  That's  hard,  Kate;  for  it's  for  you 
that  I'm  giving  it  up.  I  know  how  you  hate  it,  and  I'd  give 
up  a  great  deal  more  than  the  poachin'  for  you.  Don't  go, 
Kate;  listen  to  me!  You  know  I  love  you — Lord,  how  many 
times  have  I  told  you! — but  there!  I'm  never  tired  of  tellin* 
you." 

She  bit  her  lip.  With  her  nerves  strained  to  their  utmost; 
tension,  it  was  almost  unendurable  that  she  should  have  to 
listen  to  Dick  Eeeve's  oft-repeated  avowal. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  she  said  as  calmly  as  she  could.  "  I 
wish  you'd  give  up  this — this  foolishness!" 

His  face  darkened. 

"  It's  no  foolishness  with  me,  Kate,  and  you  know  I  can't 
give  it  up!"  he  responded,  with  suppressed  fierceness.  "  I've 
always  loved  you,  and  I  always  shall  to  the  end  of  my  days. 
Look  here,  Kate,  I've  sworn  to  marry  you,  and  I  mean  to 
sooner  or  later.  Better  give  in  at  once —  There,  there!  I 
don't  mean  to  threaten  you.  Let  that  go.  Listen  to  me:  I've 
given  up  the  poachin'  for  good  and  all.  I've  got  something 
else — something  ever  so  much  better,  something  that  will 
make  a  rich  man  of  me — and  I  offer  to  share  :"  with  you.  You 
can  live  like  a  lady  with  your  hands  in  your  lap,  and  plenty 
to  eat  and  drink,  and  fine  clothes  to  wear." 

She  regarded  him  with  a  dull  surprise  and  distaste. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked.  "  Have  you  got  some 
Work,  someplace—" 


LOVE,   THE  TTRAST.  219 

His  dark,  bold  eyes  fell  before  her  gaze,  and  he  mored  his 
feet  uneasily  as  he  replied : 

"  No.  Who's  likely  to  give  me  a  place?  I've  come  into 
some  money,  Kate." 

"  Come  into  some  money?  Had  it  left  to  you?"  she  said. 
"  It  is  very  sudden,  isn't  it?" 

He  nodded  with  his  eyes  still  downcast. 

"  Yes,  it  is.  I  didn't  know  it  till  last  night — that  is,  this 
morning.  It's  a  tidy  sum.  Kate,  and,  if  you've  a  mind, 
we'll  take  a  public.  I've  heard  that  they  want  to  get  out 
of  the  Vancourt  Arms,  and  we  might  take  that;  but  it's  just 
as  you  please,  my  girl.  You've  only  to  say  the  word.  I'm 
your  slave  Kate,  you  know,  and  I'll  do  anything  you  want." 

She  turned  her  cold,  white  face  away  from  him. 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  had  this  money  left  you,  Dick,"  she 
said;  "  but — but  it  doesn't  make  any  difference;  I  shouldn't 
marry  a  man  for  his  money,  not  if  he  had  millions." 

His  face  flushed. 

"  You're  hard  on  me,  Kate!"  he  said,  huskily.  "  I've 
done  all  I  can  to  please  you.  I've  given  up  the  p^achin',  and 
now  I  offer  to  share  this  windfall  with  you,  and  >ou  refuse 
me!  There's  many  a  girl  in  the  village  as  'ud  jump  at  such 
a  chance!" 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Kate,  quietly.  "  And,  oh!  how  I  wish 
you'd  ask  them!  What  do  you  see  in  me  that  you  should  be 
so — so  set  on  me?  There's  others  prettier  than  I  am — i here's 
Polly  Andrews,  and  Lottie  Wren;  they'd  be  only  too  glad  to 
listen  to  you,  Dick.  Oh!  if  you'd  only  give  it  up  and  leave 
me  alone!" 

His  face  went  white,  and  he  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  I  don't  try,"  he  said.  "  I'm  al- 
ways trying;  but  I  can't!  I  don't  want  PolJy  or  Lottie;  it's 
you  I  want,  and,  by  the  Lord,  I  mean  to  have  you!" 

She  turned  on  him  with  sudden  and  tjqual  fierceness.  That 
any  one  should  dare  to  make  love  to  her,  .^hose  heart  was 
aching  with  love  for  Mr.  Gordon,  maddened  her. 

"And,  by  the  LorC'  you  will  not!"  broke  from  between 
her  set  teeth.  "I  don't  love  you,  and  I  never  shall!  Let  me 
pass,  Dick  Beeve;"  for  he  had  stepped  between  her  and  the 
door.  "  I  won't  listen  to  you  any  longer.  I've  given  you 
my  answer,  and  I  will  never  speak  to  you  again  unless  yon 
promise  not  to  say— what  you  ve  said  just  now." 

He  eyed  her  with  that  terrible  passion,  that  mixture  of  de- 
sire and  despair  which  sometimes  transforms  men  into  fionis. 

"  Anil  I  say  you  shall  1"  he  responded,  his  ejeft  fimhin|fr 


220  tOVE,  THE  TTRA19T. 

"  I  mean  oo  nave  you  for  my  wife,  by  fair  means  or 
and  that's  my  last  word." 

"  Then  let  it  be  your  last  word!"  she  retorted;  and  she 
walked  by  him,  within  reach  of  the  hand  which  he  dared  not 
stretch  out  to  stay  her — for  she  looked  like  an  offended  queen 
— and  entered  the  cottage. 

She  waited  until  he  had  vaulted  the  wall,  and  his  footsteps 
had  died  away,  then  she  went  out  by  the  front  door  and  made 
her  \7?j  to  Jack  Gordon's  cottage,  pausing  now  and  a^ain  to 
look  round  carefully. 

The  key  was  in  the  door,  and  she  unlocked  it  and  entered, 
looking  round,  with  her  hand  pressed  to  her  throbbing  heart 
Love  can  make  the  most  common  place  sacred,  and  the  two 
small  rooms  were  u«llowed  ground  to  poor  Kate.  Jack  had 
tidied  up  as  well  as  he  could,  but  he  liad  left  various  traces 
of  his  presence — an  agricultural  paper  on  the  table,  a  for- 
gotten pipe  lay  on  the  narrow  mantel-shelf.  She  touched  the 
paper  reverently,  and  took  up  the  pipe  and  gazed  at  it  almost 
enviously — for  had  not  his  lips  touched  it?  But  there  was 
nothing  indicative  of  the  tragedy  which  she  had  imagined  had 
been  enacted  in  the  woods. 

She  passed  into  the  tiny  bedroom.  If  the  rest  of  tlis  cot- 
tage was  sacred,  this  was  sacrosanct  indeed!  The  sight  of  the 
narrow  bed  moved  her  beyond  any  words  to  describe.  She 
fell  on  her  knees  beside  it,  and  throwing  out  her  arms,  laid 
her  head  on  the  pillow  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  love  you!  I  love  you!"  broke  from  her  white  lips.  *'  I 
love  you — and  I  shall  never  see  you  again!  Oh,  God  help 
me!  How  shall  1  go  on  living  day  by  day  without  a  sight  di 
him!" 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

JACK  tramped  through  the  moonlight  with  his  knapsack  on 
his  back — it  was  much  lighter  than  his  heart,  for,  as  every 
ptep  he  took  carried  him  farther  from  Esther,  he  realised  how 
passionately  he  loved  her. 

Of  course,  nineteen  men  out  of  twenty  would  have  consid- 
ered Jack  an  ass  for  turning  his  back  not  only  on  the  girl  he 
loved,  but  on  Vancourt  Towers  and  the  estate  that  belonged 
to  him;  but,  in  simple  truth,  it  never  occurred  to  hiro  that  he 
could  act  otherwise  than  he  was  doing.  If  he  had  not  counted 
the  whole  cost,  of  his  sacrifice  that  night  when  he  gave  hie 
promise  to  Esther's  brother,  it  was  because,  not  having  at 
tkat  time  met  and  fallen  in  love  with  Esther,  he  did  not  know 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT.  221 

the  extent  of  his  sacrifice;  but  he  had  surrendered  his  estate, 
and  to  go  back  and  claim  it  because  he  loved  the  girl  for 
whom  he  had  resigned  it,  was  not  possible  to  one  of  Jack': 
nature. 

If,  by  any  chance,  she  had  returned  his  love — "  If  the 
moon  were  made  of  green  cheese  and  elephants  could  fly,"  he 
muttered,  "  then  the  world  would  be  a  very  different  place. 
No,  I'm  best  out  of  it.  I  was  an  idiot  to  stay,  and  I've  got 
punished  for  my  folly.  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  manage  to 
forget  her.  Afraid  not,  judging  by  my  present  feelings; 
though  they  say  if  you  don't  see  a  girl  for  a  year —  What  rofe 
they  talk  about  love!  If  I  never  see  her  again — and  it  isn't  very 
likely  I  shall — I  should  go  on  loving  her  until  I  died.  How 
Jonely  it  is  without  Bob!  Take  it,  by  and  large,  as  they  say 
at  the  docks,  I  seem  to  have  been  doomed  to  a  wandering 
and  solitary  life.  Well,  I  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Poor 
little  Nettie!  She'll  miss  me — for  a  day  or  two.  And  I — 
heaven  and  earth!  don't  I  miss  her  now!  If  I'd  married 
Esther,  I — I  might  have  had  a  little  girl  like  Nettie —  Nona 
of  that,  now!"  he  admonished  himself  sternly.  "What 
you've  got  to  try  and  do  is  to  forget  Van  court  and  all  that 
therein  dwells,  and  the  sooner  you  set  about  it  the  better." 

The  weather  was  fine,  and  he  walked  a  good  part  of  the 
way  to  London,  and  was  not  altogether  unhappy;  for  he  was 
strong,  in  perfect  health,  and  he  loved  the  country  with  all 
an  Englishman's  love. 

On  the  third  day  he  took  the  train,  and  reached  London 
on  a  close,  warm  evening,  and  looked  about  him  with  grim 
distaste  for  the  crowded  streets  and  grimy  houses  that 
squeezed  round  the  terminus. 

He  had  only  spent  a  few  shillings  of  his  money,  and  he  was 
sorely  tempted  to  put  up  at  an  hotel  and  take  it  easy  for  a 
time;  but  he  knew  from  experience  how  soon  a  few  pounds 

fo  in  the  great  city,  and,  with  a  shrug  of  resignation,  he  made 
is  way  toward  the  huge  docks  which  lie  in  that  East  of  Lon- 
don which  is  as  strange  a  region  to  those  who  live  in  the  Wost 
as  Constantinople. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  he  reached  the  place  he  was  mak- 
ing for,  and  stopped  before  one  of  the  small  houses  in  a  street 
near  the  dock  gates.  It  was — unlike  its  neighbors,  which  were 
mostly  small  chandlers,  ironmongers,  and  oil  shops — a  private 
house;  but  the  door  was  divided  hatch  fashion,  and  the  upper 
half  was  still  open,  and  in  a  small  room  inside  an  old  man 
was  mending  boots  by  the  light  of  an  evil-smelling  paraffla 
I&  was  the  only  thing  unclean  in  ^.he  room*  which  was 


222  WVT,  THE  TYBAOT. 

scrupulously  neat,  notwithstanding  its  occupant's  employ- 
ment. A  teapot  stood  on  the  hob,  and  a  cup  of  that  beverage 
which  cheers  rich  and  poor  alike  was  at  the  shoemaker's 
elbow.  He  was  so  engaged  in  his  work  that  he  did  not  see 
Jack  until  he  leant  over  the  lower  half  of  the  door,  and  said, 
cheerily: 

"  Halloo,  Jacob!" 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  mister,"  said  the  old  man.  **  So  you've 
come  back!" 

Jack  nodded. 

"  You  don't  seem  very  surprised,  Jacob." 

Jacob  shook  his  head. 

'*  No,"  he  said,  composedly.  "  Most  of  you  come  back,  I 
notice."  He  looked  through  the  door-way  towards  the  docks 
dreamily.  **  I'^e  seen  scores  and  scares  come  here,  and  many 
of  'em  go  away,  but  most  of  'em  come  back.  It's  something 
in  the  air  of  the  place,  I  reckon;  it's  fine  an*  open  here,  you 

coo  " 

BQVt 

Jack  smiled  as  he  glanced  up  the  narrow  and  by  no  means 
over-clean  street,  and  sniffed  the  heavy  air  redolent  of  an  ex- 
traordinary mixture  of  odours,  in  which  that  of  tar  and 
bilge-water  distinctly  predominated,  and  smiled  again. 

"  And  where  have  you  been — hay-making?"  asked  the  old 
cobbler. 

"  Right  the  first  time!"  responded  Jack,  cheerfully. 

"  Ah!  a  good  many  of  'em  tries  that;  but  they  seldom 
stick  to  it.  The  country's  a  dull  kind  o'  place — at  least,  I 
should  think  so;  I've  never  seen  it  myself.  There's  nothing 
like  London." 

"  You're  right,  there  isn't!"  assented  Jack,  with  emphasis. 

Jacob  nodded. 

"  No,  mister.  Them  as  has  once  lived  in  it  can't  keep 
away  from  it  for  long.  Walked  far?" 

"  Pretty  far,  far  enough  to  make  me  want  to  go  to  bed. 
Can  I  have  my  old  room,  J^ob?"  he  asked,  as  he  opened  the 
door  and  went  in,  his  head  almost  touching  the  low  ceiling, 
his  stalwart  figure  seeming  to  "  crowd  "  the  room. 

Jacob  shook  his  head. 

"  Sorry,  mister,"  he  said,  "  I've  let  it.  You  see,  I  didn't 
think  you'd  be  coming  back  so  soon.  Not  that  I  could  have 
afforded  to  keep  it." 

"  Of  course  not;  but  I'm  sorry;  I  was  very  comfortable 
here.  So  far  as  I've  seen,  it's  the  only  house  in  the  place 
where  they  use  soap  and  a  scrubbing  brush.  Well*  I  must  try 
my  lack  elsewhere." 


BOVE,  THE  TYHAUT.  223 

The  oH  cobbler  scratched  his  head  with  his  awl,  and  sur- 
Jack  ruminatingly. 

"  Your  old  room's  gone,"  he  said,  "  but  there's  the  little 
'un  at  the  top;  you  could  have  that — if  you  could  get  into 
it.'' 

Jack  laughed. 

"  If  it's  smaller  than  the  old  one  it  will  be  a  bit  of  a 
squeeze,"  he  said,  "  but  I'll  try  it.  Perhaps  your  new  lodger 
mayn't  stay  long.' 

Jacob  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  Can't  say,  I'm  sure.  I  ain't  partickler  sweet  on  her,  and 
I'll  give  her  notice  if  you  think  of  staying  on;  though  she 
pays  her  rent  regular  and  is  quiet  enough — most  times." 

"  Oh,  don't  give  her  notice  on  my  account,"  said  Jack. 
"  Especially  as  my  stay  is  uncertain.  I'll  manage.  I 
shouldn't  like  to  turn  a  woman  out.  Who  is  she,  a  sail- 
maker?"  For  nearly  all  the  women  near  the  docks  are  em- 
ployed in  the  sail-lofts,  rope-walks,  or  similar  places. 

Jacob  shook  his  head. 

"  Dunno,  mister.  No,  she  ain't,  cos  she's  out  most  all  day 
and  don't  come  home  till  late.  Oh,  she's  respectable  enough, 
or  I  shouldn't  have  her." 

"  That's  all  right,"  remarked  Jack,  cheerfully,  as  he  un- 
slung  his  knapsack  and  dropped  it  on  a  chair. 

"  Mordy  Jane  'ull  be  in  direckly,"  said  Jacob.  "  She've 
bin  round  to  get  a  bit  o'  something  for  supper.  You'll  join 
us,  mister.  She'll  be  glad  to  see  you,  you  were  a  bit  o'  a  fa- 
vourite o'  hers." 

"  Oh,  was  I?"  said  Jack,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  didn't  know 
that,  for  Mordy  Jane  was  always  pretty  sharp  with  me." 

*  She  jaws  everybody;  it's  her  way,"  Jacob  remarked, 
composedly.  *'  It's  in  her  bone." 

*'  Yes,  I've  always  suspected  that  Mordy  Jane's  bark  was 
worse  than  her  bite,"  Jack  said. 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  swung  back  and  a  girl  en- 
tered. It  was  difficult  to  tell  her  age,  because  though  her  face 
and  figure  were  that  of  a  child,  say,  fourteen,  she  wore  a  cast- 
off  woman's  dress  of  the  most  mature  type  and  a  battered 
crape-trimmed  bonnet,  which  might  have  been  built  for  a 
widow  of  fifty;  and  the  face,  though  childish  in  some  respects, 
was  marked  with  lines  which  indicated  the  shrewdness  with 
which  one  credits  only  the  adult. 

She  carried  a  beer  jug  in  one  hand,  and  a  dish  of  cold 
boiled  beef  in  the  other,  which  had  necessitated  the  kick  that 
she  hud  administered  to  the  door. 


224  W5VE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  Oh,  so  ifovfre  back!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  shrifl  voice  and 
she  eyed  Jack  with  a  pair  of  eyes  as  sharp  as  a  magpie's. 

"  Yes,  I'm  back;  and  how  do  you  do,  Mordy  Jane?"  said 
Jack.  "  Let  me  put  the  jug  down." 

"Ah,  that's  right!  Go  for  the  beer  first!"  remarked 
Mordy  Jane,  not  at  all  mollified  by  his  politeness.  "  Like  a 
man,  that  is!  Always  got  one  eye  on  the  beer.  Now,  don't 
put  it  so  near  the  fire!  Can't  you  see  the  table?  Father, 
put  them  shoes  away!  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  knock  off  before 
I  went  out!" 

The  old  man  obediently  gathered  the  boots  and  tools  to- 
,gether  and  laid  them  in  a  box. 

"  And  there's  the  lamp  smelling  like  billy-ho!"  she  went 
on.  "  'Nough  to  stifle  one!  And  you  two  men  a-sitting  here 
and  taking  no  notice!  But,  there!  you'd  sit  with  your  thumbs 
in  your  niouth  if  the  house  was  a-burning." 

She  turned  down  the  too-aspiring  lamp,  and  as  she  got  oat 
a  cloth  and  spread  it,  addressed  Jack. 

"And  where  have  you  been?  After  no  good,  I'll  be  bound! 
Trust  you  for  that.  Been  hop  picking,  or  what?  But  you 
needn't  trouble  to  answer;  you  wouldn't  tell  the  truth,  I 
spect!  Far!ier,  what  you  done  with  the  cheese?" 

'The  cheese — the  cheese? — lemme  see!"  murmured  the 
old  man,  abstractedly.  *'  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  Mrs.  Jen- 
kins's 'Vangeline  came  in  an'  borrowed  it." 

Mordy  Jane  turned  upon  him  with  her  arms  akimbo,  her 
childish  face  full  of  indignation. 

"  There  now!  And  me  only  been  gone  ten  minutes  at  the 
most!  Old  Mother  Jenkins  must  have  watched  me  go.  She 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself;  and  as  for  'Vangeline — well, 
let  me  catch  her  comin'  borrowin'  again,  that's  all.  Well, 
there'll  be  no  cheese,  Mr.  Gordon,  that's  one  thing." 

"Don't  worry  on  my  account,  Mordy  Jane:  never  eat 
cheese." 

"  But  other  people  do!"  she  retorted.  "  Bring  up  your 
chair — .  Father,  take  that  apron  off!  If  you  think  you're 
going  to  work  agen  to-night,  you're  mistaken.  Now,  what 
Is  it?" 

A  mite  of  tender  years,  but  precociously  aged-faced,  peered 
over  the  door,  and  in  a  thin  treble,  said  in  a  monotonous 
voice,  as  if  it  were  repeating  a  lesson: 

"  Please,  Mister  Jacob,  mother  says  will  you  please  let  'er 
*ave  her  boots,  as  she  want  'em  pa-tickler." 

"Eh?"  murmured  the  old  man,  absently.    "Yes— yes, 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  225 

Lemme  see!    Mrs.  Murphy's  boots.    Where  did  I — ah,  yes; 
here  they  are.'" 

He  rummaged  them  out  from  a  collection  in  the  corner,  and 
was  handing  them  to  the  child ;  but  Mordy  Jane  was  too  quick 
for  him,  and  snatched  them  out  of  his  hand. 

"  Where's  the  money,  Sophie  Maria?"  she  enquired. 
'*  How  much  is  it,  father?" 

"  Eighteen  pence,"  replied  Jacob. 

Sophie  Maria  drew  back  her  grimy  little  paw. 

"  Please,  mother  says  she'll  pay  you  on  Saturday  night, 
•rfter  father—" 

"  No,  you  don't!"  broke  in  Mordy  Jane,  with  a  shake  of 
iter  head,  which  sent  the  ridiculous  bonnet  all  on  one  side. 
"  I've  heard  that  fairy  story  before.  You  can  have  the  boots 
when  you  bring  the  money,  and  not  before!" 

"  Mother'll  be  in  a  fine  way,"  remarked  Sophie  Maria  in  a 
kind  of  stolid  resignation.  "  Most  like  she'll  come  'erself. 
She  wants  'em  to  go  to  Hepping  Forest  to-morrow,  and  she 
won't  be  able  to  go  without  them  boots.  But  /  don't  care. 
Don't  you  think  as  I  do,  Mordy  Jane;  for  I  don't.  So  there!" 

"  You  tell  your  mother — "  Mordy  Jane  began  to  retort; 
then  she  stopped  and  tossed  the  boots  over  the  door.  "  Well, 
take  'em,  but,  mind!  If  your  mother  wasn't  goin'  to 
Hepping — " 

Sophie  Maria  snatched  up  the  boots  and  fled,  and,  after 
sundry  snorts  and  ejaculations,  Mordy  Jane  cooled  down 
sufficiently  to  superintend  the  supper. 

Jack  looked  on  and  listened  with  a  strange  sense  of  un- 
reality. Did  such  a  place  as  Vancourt,  such  people  as  Esther, 
Mrs.  Martin,  Nettie  exist,  or  had  he  only  dreamt  of  them? 
He  looked  round  the  tiny  room  absently;  neither  its  size  nor 
its  poverty  troubled  him: — had  he  not  roughed  it  in  the  bush, 
and  partaken  of  worse  fare  than  cold  boiled  beef,  and  been  in 
worse  company  than  this  honest  old  shoemaker  and  his  weirdly 
precocious  child? — but  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  never  left  it,  as 
if  the  time  he  had  spent  at  Vancourt  were  the  freak  of  his 
imagination. 

"  An'  what  are  you  goin*  to  do?  Same  old  game;  docks?" 
asked  Mordy  Jane  as  she  helped  liim  liberally,  meeting  his 
remonstrance  with:  "  Oh,  there's  plenty  for  all  of  us,  and  I 
ain't  hungry — 'ad  shrimps  for  tea — and  you  look  as  if  you's 
come  off  a  long  tramp." 

"  So  I  have,"  said  Jack.  "  Yes,  same  old  game,  Mordy 
Jane;  I  hope  there's  plenty  of  work." 

'  Oik  Y86."  she  said.    "  We're  busy  lost  now.  and  vou're 


226  LOVE,   THE  TYBAIT». 

all  right;  though  "— she  eyed  him  with  her  head  on  one 
like  a  particularly  sharp  sparrow — "  I  should  a  thought  the 
likes  of  you  could  have  found  something  better  than  dock 
work." 

"  Doesn't  seem  like  it,  Mordy  Jane,  seeing  that  I've  come 
back  again,"  responded  Jack,  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  that's  what's  queer,"  she  said,  still  surveying  him 
with  the  supernatural  shrewdness  of  the  cockney  of  her  class. 
"  But  there!  it's  no  business  of  mine!  I  suppose  you're  going 
to  have  the  top  room?  Your  old  'un's  let.  Well,  I'll  go  up 
and  put  it  tidy  for  you.  Have  some  more  beer — I'm  off  beer 
to-night,  and  prefers  tea— and  don't  let  father  sneak  back  to 
that  old  bench  of  his  while  I'm  gone.  You  hear  me,  father!" 
she  added,  threateningly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mordy  Jane,"  he  assented,  meekly. 

Jack  and  he  lit  their  pipes  and  smoked  in  the  silence  which 
tobacco  makes  possible,  and  presently  Mordy  Jane  came  down 
with  the  information  that  Jack's  room  was  ready. 

"  Half-past  five  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  as  usual,  I  suppose?" 
she  said. 

"  Thanks,  yes,"  replied  Jack.  "  I'll  turn  in  now.  Good- 
night, Jacob;  good-night,  Mordy  Jane,  it's  very  kind  of  yon 
to  take  me  in." 

Mordy  Jane  nodded. 

"  Oh,  well,  as  to  that,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  we've  had 
worse — and  we've  had  better.  Don't  disturb  yourself  if  yoa 
hear  a  noise  about  'alf  past  eleven,  it's  only  our  other  lodger 
comin'  in." 

Jack  laughed. 

"  An  earthquake  wouldn't  disturb  me  to-night,  Mordy 
Jane,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  sleep  like  a  top." 

Nevertheless,  he  was  lying  awake  thinking  of  Esther  when 
the  dock  clock — how  different  was  its  sound  to  that  of  the 
Vancourt  one! — struck  eleven;  and  some  time  after,  as  he 
strove  to  thrust  his  thoughts  aside  and  lose  them  in  sleep,  he 
heard  a  light  but  dragging  step  coming  up  the  stairs,  and 
the  sound  of  some  person  moving  about  in  the  room  beneath. 

Mordy  Jane  hammered  at  the  door  at  half-past  five  the 
next  morning,  and  thrust  a  cup  of  coffee  round  it,  and  Jack 
cot  nn  from  his  restless,  dream-haunted  sleep,  and  prepared 
lor  the  day's  toil.  As  he  dressed  himself  he  felt  that,  after 
all  he  had  acted  wisely  in  rushing  at  once  at  work.  If  labour 
is  prajer,  it  is  also  solace,  and  his  life  wouFd  be  unendurable 
but  for  the  hard  physical  toil  which  permits  of  no  "  moon- 
ing,"  and  compels  the  heavy  slumber  of  bodily  fatigue. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  227 

He  went  down  to  the  docks,  and  was  at  once  taken  on  by 
tiie  foreman,  who  recognised  his  stalwart  figure;  and  for  the 
whole  of  the  day,  barring  his  short  meal  times,  Sir  John  Van- 
court, Baronet,  of  Vancourt  Towers,  hauled  sacks,  lifted 
great  weights,  and  earned  his  bread  with  the  sweat  of  hia 
brow.  Whenever  he  found  himself  pausing  absently  and  wan- 
dering mentally  towards  Vancourt  and  the  girl  who  reigned 
there,  he  made  a  dash  for  a  sack  or  a  bale  as  if  it  were  his 
mortal  foe,  and  hauled  and  lifted  until  he  had  deadened  the 
aching  pain  at  his  heart. 

It  answered  fairly  well  while  he  was  at  it;  but  he  knew 
that  when  the  day's  work  was  over  the  reaction  would  set  in, 
and_the  aching  pain  and  longing  would  rise  to  torment  him. 

He  went  home  to  "  clean  "  and  have  his  tea — which  Mordy 
Jane  enlivened  by  an  altercation  with  a  neighbour  who  con- 
ducted her  side  of  the  argument  over  the  lower  half  of  the 
door — then  he  lit  his  pipe  and  strolled  out 

Until  he  had  met  Esther  he  had  found  London  amusing 
and  interesting  enough;  but  to-night  the  great  city  weighed 
upon  him  like  an  incubus,  and  he  walked  up  one  street  and 
down  another  in  an  absent,  preoccupied  manner,  thinking  of 
Vancourt  woods  and  all  that  had  happened  there. 

At  last,  tired  of  aimless  wandering,  he  made  for  home.  It 
was  past  eleven  as  he  entered  Chase  Street,  as  the  street  in 
which  he  lodged  was  called,  and  the  streets  were  rather  noisy, 
for  the  public-houses  were  in  full  swing,  doing  a  brisk  trade 
with  the  people  who  had  just  come  out  from  the  theatres  and 
music-halls. 

Jack  made  his  way  through  the  various  groups,  and  letting 
himself  in,  groped  his  way  upstaiiv;  for  it  was  a  rule  of  Mordy 
Jane's  that  no  bedroom  candles  should  be  lit  down-stairs,  and 
Mordy  Jane's  rules  were  as  unalterable  as  those  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians. 

He  was  feeling  for  a  match-box  which  he  remembered  see- 
ing on  the  mantel-shelf  as  he  went  out,  when  he  heard  the 
street  door  open  and  close  again  and  footsteps  ascending  the 
stairs.  It  was,  no  doubt,  the  other  lodger,  the  lady  who  was 
respectable,  though  "  given  to  late  hours."  • 

Jack's  door  was  open,  and,  naturally  enough,  he  went  to  it 
and  looked  down. 

A  woman — young,  he  judged,  but  with  a  lined  and  faded 
face,  made  all  the  more  faded-looking  by  a  mass  of  vellovr 
hair  which  obviously  owed  its  canary  hue  to  art — was  coming 
np  the  stairs  with  slow  and  tired  gait,  holding  on  by  the  bal- 
ester  and  stopping  now  and  again  to  get  her  breathl 


228  LOVE,  THE  TYSAWT. 

Just  as  Jack  looked  down  her  foot  slipped,  she 
and,  losing  her  hold  of  the  rail,  fell  against  the  wall  i,nd  sanis 
on  to  the  stairs. 

Jack  went  down  to  her  quickly  and  quietly. 

"  Have  you  hurt  youi self?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  with  a  startled  expression  oa  her  fa>?9,  whicfc 
was  pale  beneath  its  painu 

"  No — no!  oh,  no!"  she  said,  and  Jack  was  relieved  to  fin 
that  her  voice  had  not  the  slightest  indication  of  inebriety. 
"  I — my  foot  slipped,  and  I  fell.     I  am  very  tired — " 

She  rose,  but  with  difficulty,  and  Jack  took  her  arm  and 
drew  it  within  his. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  he  said,  gently.  "  There  are  only  a 
few  steps  farther." 

"  Thank  you!"  she  faltered,  with  an  attempt  at  a  laagh— 
the  vacant  laugh  of  the  lower  class  London  girl;  but  the 
laugh  died  away,  and  she  winced. 

"  I've  gone  and  sprained  my  foot,"  she  said.  "  That's 
what  I've  done!" 

"  I  hcpe  not!"  said  Jacfc. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not — only  strained  it.  Good-night,  and 
thank  yon,"  she  added,  as  she  opened  her  door. 

Jack  returned  the  good-night,  and  was  turning  away,  when 
he  saw  something — it  looked  like  a  small,  square  bundle- 
slipping  from  under  her  arm.  He  stopped,  and  made  to  pre- 
vent its  falling;  but,  with  a  quick  cry,  so  low  as  to  be  scarcely 
more  than  a  gasp,  she  caught  the  bundle  to  her  as  if  it  were 
something  secret  and  precious,  and  stepping  into  her  room, 
shut  the  door  on  him  quickly  but  noiselessly. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

WHILE  Jack  had  tramped  off  to  go  into  action  in  the  battle 
of  life,  so  to  speak,  the  two  women  who  loved  him  were  left 
behind  to  fret  after  him  in  that  inaction  which  makes  loss 
and  grief  so  hard  to  bear:  it  is  always  those  who  are  left  be- 
hind who  suffer  most. 

Kate  gave  way  to  her  grief,  but  Esther  fought  against  hers 
with  the  pride  of  her  class  and  station.  She  was  greatly  puz~ 
aled  by  Kate  Transom's  strange  words  and  sJ.rangsr  manner 
when  she  learned  from  Esther  that  Jack  had  gone;  and 
Esther,  as  she  walked  home,  inwardly  as  much  agitated  ac 
the  girl  she  had  just  left,  asked  herself  the  meaning  of  Kate's 
reception  of  the  news. 

Had  the  girl  only  pretended  ignorance  of  Mr.  Gcrdca's  de* 


LOVE,  THE  TYBANT.  229 

darture?  Was  there  no  engagement  between  them?  Why 
nad  the  girl  declared  that  Mr.  Gordon  and  his  proceedings 
were  nothing  to  her?  Surely  Marie  could  not  have  been  mis- 
taken when  she  said  that  Mr.  Gordon  and  Kate  were  en- 
gaged? If  they  were  not,  if  there  was  nothing  between  them, 
why  had  Elate  Transom  been  so  agitated,  so  vehement? 

She  tried  to  put  the  whole  thing  away  from  her,  calling  her 
pride  to  her  aid.  After  all,  it  was  nothing  to  her  whether 
Mr.  Gordon  was  engaged  to  Kate  Transom  or  not.  What  she 
had  to  do  was  to  forget  him  as  quickly  and  as  completely  as 
possible.  He  had  passed  out  of  her  life,  and  she  hoped,  for 
ner  own  peace  of  mind,  that  she  should  not  see  him  again. 

As  she  went  along  the  edge  of  the  wood,  she  saw  Selby  Lay- 
ton  coming  out  from  the  midst  of  the  trees.  He  had  been  to 
pay  another  visit  to  the  scene  of  his  crime,  drawn  thither  not 
only  by  the  fascination  of  the  fatal  spot,  but  in  search  of  the 
articles  which  he  had  so  perilously  forgotten.  In  the  terrible 
confusion  of  his  mind  he  had  forgotten  that  with  the  stylo- 
graphic  pen  and  the  memorandum,  he  had  also  left  the  photo- 
graph which  Denzil  had  shown  him.  He  had  returned  the 
photograph  to  Denzil — he  was  pretty  clear  on  that  point — 
out  he  could  not  remember  what  Denzil  had  done  with  it.  In 
his  hasty  search  he  had  not  found  it  on  the  body  of  the  mur- 
dered man,  and  it  was  quite  possible  that  at  the  moment  of 
the  murder  it  might  have  fallen  amongst  the  bracken  with 
the  other  missing  things. 

On  his  present  visit  he  had  made  diligent  search  in  the 
undergrowth,  but  unsuccessfully,  and,  not  daring  to  stay  long 
lest  he  should  be  seen,  he  was  returning  to  the  hcTise  when 
Esther  saw  him.  Oppressed  by  guilty  forebodings,  he  was 
pale  and  haggard,  and  he  started  slightly  as,  raising  his  head, 
he  saw  Esther;  but  he  forced  a  smile  and  greeted  her  in  his 
softest  aud  most  tender  voice. 

"  What  a  lovely  day!"  he  said.  "  You  have  been  down  to 
the  village?" 

Esther  assented  rather  coldly,  with  the  reserve  which  had 
marked  her  manner  since  she  had  yielded  to  his  persuasion 
and  became  half  engaged  to  him. 

"  Have  you  been  into  the  wood?"  she  asked,  absently. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  thought  I  would  go  and  look  at 
tile  Hawk's  Pool.  It  is  an  extremely  picturesque  spot." 

"  Yes,"  said  Esther;  "  but  it  always  seems  to  me  weird 
and  uncanny." 

"  Well,  so  it  is,"  he  admitted;  "  but  it  is  very  character- 

;c.    I  soDDose  every  old  place  like  the  Towers  has  a  some* 


230  LOVE,  THE  TYRAlfT 

what  sinrilar  spot.  You  wouldn't  find  it  in  ine  newly 
grounds  of  a  modern  estate;  and  I  think  it  would  be  a  great 
pity  to  interfere  with  it  in  any  way;  it  seems  to  me,  as  I  said 
at  b^sakfast,  that  it  would  be  a  piece  of  vandalism.  It  may 
not  be  altogether  salubrious;  but  it's  far  away  from  the  house, 
and  none  of  the  cottages  are  near  it.  If  I  were  an  artist,  I 
should  implore  you  to  spare  it." 

He  said  all  this  with  a  pleasant  smile,  and  as  if  his  interest 
were  merely  an  artistic  one,  but  his  eyes  watched  Esther's 
downcast  face,  as  she  walked  beside  him,  with  a  terrible  keen- 
ness. 

Esther  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly.  The  matter  seemed 
of  no  importance  whatever  to  her. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  she  said.  "  We  will  let  it  remain  as  it- 
is,  at  any  rate  for  the  present." 

He  glided  smoothly  into  another  subject;  and  when  they 
had  reached  the  house  he  left  her  at  once  and  went  to  the 
library  on  the  pretence  of  writing  a  letter:  for  he  was  too 
wise  to  make  his  presence  a  burden  to  her.  They  did  not 
meet  again  until  dinner  time,  when  he  was  as  serene  and 
smiling  as  usual;. and  during  the  meal  he  laid  himself  out  to 
amuse  the  two  ladies;  and  though  Esther  only  smiled  in  a 
pre<  ccupied  manner  and  seemed  rather  pale  and!  distrait,  Miss 
Worcester  was  more  than  ever  charmed  with  Mr.  Selby  Lay- 
ton,  and  sang  his  praises  when  she  and  Esther  had  retired  to 
the  drawing-room. 

He  joined  them  very  soon,  and  presently  going  to  the  piano, 
played  and  sang  in  his  most  charming  manner.  He  appeared 
to  be  in  even  better  voice  than  usual,  and  neither  of  the  two 
women  who  listened  to  him  guessed  that  every  now  and  then 
the  page  of  music  grew  dim  before  him,  and  in  its  place  rose 
the  horrible  moonlit  pool  which  hid  his  terrible  secret;  that 
in  his  ears  there  shrieked  the  hoot  of  the  night  bird  which 
had  flown  across  the  slimy  water  as  he  did  the  deed. 

Esther  slept  heavily  through  the  night,  but  her  sleep  was 
haunted  by  dreams,  and  she  woke  weary  and  listless.  It  was 
early,  and  when  she  went  down  she  wandered  into  the  garden. 
She  looked  round  upon  the  magnificent  grounds  with  a  dis- 
satisfied, uuadmiring  eye.  She  was  beginning  to  realise  the 
stern  truth  that  wealth  and  luxury  do  not  always  bring  hap- 
piness. The  brilliant  flowers,  the  trim  gravel  walks,  jarred 
upon  her;  she  felt  as  if  she  could  not  go  into  the  breakfast- 
room  and  play  her  part,  talk  and  smiie,  as  if  nothing  were 
the  matter,  with  Selby  Layton  and  Miss  Worcester  exchang- 
ing commonplaces  and  Palmer  hovering  about  with  solemn 


IX>VE,  THE  TYRJLNT.  231 

poncferonB  dignity.  She  turned  away  from  the  house  and 
walked  across  the  lawn  in  the  direction  of  the  home  farm, 
but  without  intending  to  go  so  far. 

As  she  came  in  sight  of  the  farm  lodge  she  saw  a  group 
standing  at  the  gate.  Martin,  Transom,  and  Dick  Keeve 
were  standing  outside  the  gate  talking  loudly  and  gesticulat- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Martin  was  leaning  on  the  gate  with  her  hand? 
clasped  hi  an  anxious  and  agitated  attitude. 

Esther  saw  that  something  was  the  matter,  and  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  to  go  on  and  ascertain  what  it  was;  for  in 
the  strained  condition  of  her  nerves  she  was  at  once  assailed 
by  all  sorts  of  apprehensions.  When  she  came  within  hearing 
she  distinngished  Transom's  voice  vehemently  putting  some 
question  to  Martin. 

They  did  not  see  her  until  she  was  close  upon  them;  then 
they  all  stopped  talking  and  regarded  her  in  an  awkward  and 
embarrassed  fashion.  Martin  and  Transom  touched  their 
caps,  but  Dick  Reeve  glared  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  see  her. 
His  face  was  pale  and  working,  and  he  stood  with  his  sinewy 
hands  closing  and  unclosing  spasmodically  at  his  side. 

"  Good-morning,  Martin.  Is  there  anything  the  matter?" 
Esther  asked,  as  calmly  as  she  could;  and  her  forced  com* 
posure  had  a  quieting  effect  upon  the  group. 

"  Well,  miss,"  replied  Martin,  "  something  has  happened: 
but  it  ain't  so  dreadful  as  to  make  a  fuss  about;  and,  as  I 
tells  'em,  it  ain't  no  fault  of  ours,  me  and  the  missus.  Us 
have  quite  enough  to  do  to  look  after  ourselves  without  being 
answerable  for  other  people's  daughters." 

He  looked  at  Transom  reproachfully,  and  then  angrily  at 
Dick  Reeve. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Esther.  "  Will  one  of  you  please 
tell  me?  If  there  is  anything  I  can  do — " 

Transom  touched  his  cap  and  looked  at  her  half-sullenly, 
half-apoiogetically. 

"  I  don't  want  to  trouble  you,  miss."  he  said.  "  I  came 
up  to  ask  Martin  about  my  daughter,  my  Kate — " 

Esther  turned  to  him  quickly  with  a  sudden  foreboding 
which  she  concealed  behind  her  forced  calmness. 

*  Your  daughter — Kate?    What  has  happened  to  her?" 

"  She's  gone,  miss,"  said  Transom,  gloomily. 

"  Gone!"  echoed  Esther. 

"  Yes,  she's  gone,"  repeated  Transom,  drawing  a  long 
breath.  "  She's  left  her  home.  She  went  last  night." 

Esther  stood  perfectly  still,  her  face  set,  hex  eye«  meet:~  i 
Transom's  steadily. 


232  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  Why  has  she  gone?"  she  asked. 

Transom  shooknis  head. 

"  I  don't  know.  miss.  She've  been  strange  and 
iately,  and  unhappy  in  her  mind  like;  but  I  never  thought 
she'd  go  and  leave  me  sudden — leave  her  home  where  she  was 
born—" 

Esther  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

'*  Do  you  not  know  where  she  has  gone,  has  she  lef '.  yo:i 
no  message?" 

Transom  took  a  piece  of  paper  from  his  Docket. 

"  Only  this,  miss,"  he  said.  "  I  found  it  on  the  kitchen 
table  when  I  came  down  this  morning." 

He  held  out  the  paper  to  Esther  and  she  took  it  and  read 
it.  There  were  only  a  few  lines,  written  in  the  plain,  stiff 
hand  which  Kate  had  acquired  at  the  board  school,  and  they 
rail  thus: 

"  DEAR  FATHER — I  cannot  stay  at  home  any  longer,  and 
so  I'm  going.  I'm  going  to  London  to  look  for  a  situation. 
I  v/iil  write  and  let  you  know  when  I  get  one.  Don't  be  anx- 
ious about  me.  I  must  go,  I  can't  help  it;  and  don't  try  to 
find  me,  for  nothing  would  induce  me  to  come  back  to  van- 
court.  Your  loving  daughter,  KATE." 

Esther  read  the  note  over  twice  before  she  raised  her  eycc; 
then  as  she  gave  it  back  to  Transom,  she  said: 

"  I  am  very  sorry!  She  seemed  to  have  been  very  un- 
happy, judging  by  what  she  has  written.  Do  you  know  why?'* 

Transom  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  I  don't,  miss,"  he  replied.  "  Until  lately  Kate  was 
as  gay  and  blithe  as  the  best  of  'em.  It's  only  recent  like 
that  she's  been  took  with  them  queer  ways.  I  didn't  take 
much  notice,  because  girls  takes  fits  on  'em  sometimes.  I 
never  thought  my  Kate  'ud  leave  me — desert  me,  in  thia 
way." 

"  She  may  come  back,"  said  Esther,  gently. 

"  She  may  when  he's  tired  of  her,"  said  Dick  Reeve. 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  him.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  spoken,  and  he  uttered  the  words  fiercely  and  bitterly,  as 
if  he  were  struggling  to  suppress  his  smouldering  passion. 
Esther  looked  from  him  to  Transom  enquiringly,  and  Tran- 
som evaded  her  gaze  and  cast  his  ejes  down. 

"  Why  don't  we  tell  Miss  Vancourt  the  truth?"  said  Dick 
Reeve,  huskily.  "  Perhaps  sue  can  help  as — perhaps  she  can 
tell  as  arhftm  fchA  isaaa's  gone." 


«JVE,  THE  TYEABTL  233 

""What  man?"  asked  Esther,  as  calmly  as  she  coulc\ 
though  a  vague  fear  was  rising  in  her  heart. 

"  Re  means  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  Transom,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Mr.  Gordon!" 

The  color  rose  in  a  burning  flood  to  Esther's  fare,  then  left 
ft  very  pale. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Transom.  "  He  left  the  night  before 
-—left  quite  sudden-like,  saying  nothing  to  nobody  that  he 
lueant  to  go,  and  leaving  no  word  behind  him." 

"  But  why  should  you  think  that  your  daughter's  disap- 
pearance is  connected  with  Mr.  Gordon's  departure  from 
Vancourt?"  asked  Esther. 

Transom  bit  his  lip,  and  Dick  Eeeve's  curled  sardonically. 

"  Well,  it's  this  way,  miss,"  said  Transom.  "  When  I 
found  the  letter  on  the  table  this  morning  I  was  so  mazed 
like  that  I  let  out  my  trouble  to  my  neighbours;  and  then 
they  told  me  that  Kate  and  Mr.  Gordon  had  been  seen  to- 
gether times  out  of  number,  walking  in  the  woods  and  else- 
where, and  that  she'd  been — been  to  his  cottage.  She  was 
aeen  near  the  cottage  on  the  night  he  left" 

"  Yes;  what  was  she  doing  there?"  muttered  Dick  Reeve, 
between  his  teeth. 

"  Mr.  Giles,  miss,  has  seen  them  together,"  said  Transom, 
reluctantly,  but  with  an  air  of  conviction.  "  He  and  Marie, 
your  ladyship's  maid,  met  'em  coming  out  of  the  woods  the 
other  night,  and  Giles  said  they  was  sweethearting;  and  I 
remember  that  night  Kate  came  in  looking  wild-like  and 
confused." 

Esther  stood,  with  outward  calm,  but  with  an  aching  mis- 
ery at  her  heart. 

"  But  granting  all  this,"  she  said,  "  why  should  your 
daughter  ran  away  from  you?  She  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  and 
has  been  well  taught — " 

"  She  have,  miss,"  murmured  Transom,  with  an  emphatic 
shake  of  his  head.  "  That  makes  it  all  the  worse." 

"  I  mean,"  said  Esther,  "  that — that  Mr.  Gordon  had  no 
reason  to  be  ashamed  of  an  engagement  with  yonr  daughter, 
and  that,  though  he  was  leaving  Vancourt  for  a  time,  he 
might  have  come  back  and  married  her." 

Dick  Reeve  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  You  don't  understand,  miss,"  he  said,  his  black  eyes 
glowering  at  her.  "  He  didn't  think  of  marriage — he  never 
trended  to  marry  her.  If  he  did,  why  didn't  he  court  hex 
of  only  as — as  others  have  done?"  He  looked  down  for  a  mo* 


234  IOVE,  THE  TYBAUT. 

ment,  struggling  with  his  passion,  which  almost  prerented  hii 
utterance.  "No;  it's  like  enough  that  he's  married  already." 

Esther's  face  went  whiter,  and  Mrs.  Martin  said,  timidly 
and  anxiously: 

"  Won't  you  come  in,  miss?    The  sun's  hot." 

Esther  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Martin,"  she  said.  She  was  deter- 
mined that  she  would  crush  down  all  personal  feeling  and 
meet  this  case  as  if  her  own  heart  was  not  concerned  in  it. 
"  I  do  not  think  that  is  probable,"  she  said. 

"  Who  can  tell!"  said  Dick  Reeve.  "  Nobody  knows  any- 
thing about  him;  he  came  from  nobody  knows  where;  and 
got  the  farm  without  any  character,  so  I'm  told.  I'm  told, 
too" — he  glanced  sullenly  and  sideways  at  Esther — "that 
because  he'd  got  a  flash  way  with  him  that  he  was  made  much 
of,  as  if  he  was  above  us  common  folk.  Some  people  treated 
him  as  if  he  was  a  gentleman.  I  say  them  folks  are  to  blame, 
whether  they're  high  or  low,  and  they  ought  to  be  sorry  now 
that  he's  shown  himself  up  as  a  villain." 

Esther's  lip  quivered,  and  she  winced  inwardly,  for  some- 
thing of  what  Dick  Reeve  had  said  was  true.  They  did  know 
nothing  of  Mr.  Gordon's  antecedents;  he  had  to  some  extent 
been  treated  as  a  gentleman;  had  been  engaged  without  a 
character;  and  had  been  made  much  of.  But  something 
within  her  rose  against  the  words  Dick  Reeve  had  used,  rose 
in  defence  of  the  absent  man.  Though  the  case  seemed  black 
against  him,  she  could  not  believe  him  capable  of  the  baseness 
with  which  these  people  were  inclined  to  charge  him.  And 
yet,  had  he  not  behaved  badly  to  her,  Esther  herself?  Her 
face  flamed  for  a  moment. 

"  I  think  you  are  unjust  to  Mr.  Gordon,"  she  said;  "  yon 
have  no  proof,  only  suspicion." 

"  Why  did  he  got  off  like  a  thief  in  the  night?"  asked 
Dick  Reeve.  "  And  where  has  he  gone?" 

"  We  came  up  here  to  ask  Martin  if  Mr.  Gordon  had  left 
an  address,"  said  Transom.  "  But  he  says  no.  That  seems 
Btrange  like." 

"  Strange!"  sneered  Dick  Reeve.  "  He  goes  off,  as  I  say, 
like  a  thief,  telling  no  one  where  he  was  going  and  leaving  hia 
dog  behind.  Why  did  he  do  that?  He  was  supposed  to  be 
fond  of  the  animal.  He  leaves  it  behind  because  he  knows  if 
he  had  the  dog  with  him  it  would  be  easier  to  track  him:  he'a 
cunning  enough." 

Esther's  heart  sank.    Though  she  fought  against  the  kteft 


THE  TYBAOT.  235 

•f  Jack  Gordon's  guilt,  she  felt  these  men  had  grounds  foi 
suspicion. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  where  he's  gone,  miss?'  asked  Tran- 
som, respectfully  enough. 

Esther  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Gordon 
left  suddenly  on  his  own  business,  and  he — he  did  not  tell  me 
where  he  was  going,  though  I  understood  it  was  to  London." 

"  Yes,  to  London!"  said  Dick  Reeve,  sardonically.  "  And 
that's  where  Kate's  gone!" 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  she  should  have  gone  to  him," 
said  Martin.  "  Most  folks,  when  they  want  to  better  them- 
selves, go  to  London,  and  she  says  she's  gone  to  find  a  situa- 
tion." 

"  And  that  she  will  write  to  you  when  she  obtains  one," 
said  Esther,  snatching  at  the  hope  suggested  by  Martin's 
words. 

Dick  Reeve  shook  his  head  incredulously. 

"  Not:  she,  she  won't  write,"  he  said.  "  We  sha'n't  hear 
•f  her  again  until  she  comes  back  broken-hearted." 

"  There's  nobody  she  knows  in  London,  you  see,  miss," 
said  Transom,  gravely;  "  and  she'd  never  dare  to  face  that 
big  place  alone.  I'm  afraid — "  he  paused  significantly. 

Esther  raised  her  head,  it  had  sunk  despondently  during 
the  last  few  minutes. 

"  I  still  think  you  are  both  wrong,"  she  said.  "  But  we 
ahall  soon  find  out." 

"  How?"  asked  Dick  Reeve. 

"  I  will  cause  immediate  enquiries  to  be  made,"  replied 
Esther,  coldly. 

Transom  looked  up  sharply. 

"  You  won't  put  it  in  the  hands  of  the  police?"  he  asked 
anxiously.  "  I  shouldn't  like  my  gal's  shame  to  be  made 
public;  and  I  shouldn't  like  her  to  be  hunted  down  like  a 
criminal;  it  might  make  matters  worse.  Perhaps,  if  your 
lach  ship  interested  yourself  and  tried  what  you  could  do,  you 
might  persuade  him  to  make  an  honest  woman  of  her?  A 
great  lady  like  you  would  have  a  deal  of  influence  with  a  man 
Mke  Mr.  Gordon;  a  word  from  yon  might  make  all  the  differ- 
ence to  my  Rate." 

He  looked  up  at  her  rather  shiftily  as  if  there  was  some- 
thing behind  his  words. 

"I  will  cause  enquiries  to  be  made,"  said  Esther,  "  and  if 
I  can  do  anything  to  help  you  in  your  trouble  I  shall  be  very 
glad.  ft*  1  still  think  you  are  doing  Mr.  Gordon  an  injua* 


236  TOTE,  THE  TTHA1ST. 

tice.  From  what  I  know  of  him,  I  do  not  think  he  is  capabte 
of — of  what  you  charge  him  with.  Please  let  me  know  n 
you  hear  anything  of  your  daugther,  let  me  know  at  once. 
Good-morning." 

She  walked  away,  with  outward  composure  but  with  her 
heart  aching  and  her  mind  in  a  turmoil.  She  could  not  blind 
herself  to  the  inferential  evidence  which  had  seemed  so  con- 
clusive to  Dick  Reeve  if  not  to  Transom:  but  still  something 
within  Iier  rose  instinctively  to  defend  Jack  Gordon.  As  she 
had  said,  she  could  not  believe  him  capable  of  such  a  cruel 
and  cowardly  act.  Besides,  she  knew  why  he  had  gone, 
though  her  lips  were  sealed  and  she  could  tell  no  one;  he  had 
had  no  intention  of  going  until  he  had  offended  her  by  that 
fatal  kiss.  It  was  unlikely  that  he  should  have  gone  straight 
from  her  and  planned  an  elopement  with  Kate  Transom. 
Then,  again,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  have 
married  her;  and  this  seemed  to  Esther  the  strongest  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  his  innocence. 

She  had  promised  to  make  private  enquiries;  but  as  she 
went  towards  the  house  she  wondered  how  she  could  set  about 
it;  she  had  not  the  least  notion;  unless  she  employed  a  pri- 
vate detective,  and  Transom  appeared  to  entertain  a  strong 
aversion  to  anything  that  savoured  of  publicity.  Take  it 
altogether,  Esther  was  having  a  bad  time  of  it  that  morning. 
Jack  Gordon's  absence  was  bad  enough  to  bear,  but  this 
charge  against  him  made  things  infinitely  worse  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

SHE  found  Miss  Worcester  and  Selby  Layton  seated  at  the 
breakfast-table;  but  they  had  only  made  a  pretence  of  begin- 
ning and  Miss  Worcester  chided  her  for  being  late. 

"  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  persuading  Mr.  Layton  to 
commence,"  she  said;  "  but  I  knew  you  would  not  like  us  to 
wait.  Where  have  you  been,  my  dear  Esther?" 

Selby  Layton  said  nothing  but  looked  at  her  with  lover-like 
intentness,  as  he  rose  and  drew  a  chair  forward  and  hovered 
about  her  for  a  moment,  in  a  manner  that  irritated  Esther. 
She  knew  that  they  would  both  hear  the  news  which  she  had 
received  this  morning  directly  they  went  to  the  village,  and 
so  she  gave  the  real  reason  for  her  delay,  rushing  at  the  sub- 
ject, as  a  horse  takes  a  particularly  high  fence  which  has  to 
be  negotiated  somehow  or  other. 

"  I  was  walking  towards  the  home  farm  when  I  saw  Tran- 
som and  Dick  Reeve  talking  to  the  Martins  at  the  gate.  They 


DOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  237 

wire  fn  trouble.  It  seems  that  Kate  Transom  has  suddenly 
disappeared,  ran  away,  in  fact.  She  left  a  note  to  say  that 
she  had  gone  to  London  to  seek  a  situation — " 

"  Foolish  girl!"  said  Miss  Worcester. 

— "  Bat  it  is  thought  that  that  is  not  the  reason  of  her 
flight.  Transom — and  Dick  Reeve,  who  is  a  lover  of  hers,  I 
suppose — strongly  suspect  that  she  has  followed  Mr.  Gordon, 
that  she  has  gone  to  join  him  in  London. " 

Suffering  is  a  tonic  and  a  training,  and  Esther  had  by  thii 
time  learnt  to  mask  her  feelings;  so  that,  somewhat  to  her 
own  surprise,  she  made  this  announcement  with  apparent 
calmness. 

"  What  a  wicked  girl!"  exclaimed  Miss  Worcester. 
"  Really,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  it  would  be  far  better 
for  them  if  girls  of  the  lower  classes  were  all  born  plain." 

Even  in  her  misery,  Esther  could  not  refuse  the  tribute  of 
a  smile  to  this  extraordinary  pronouncement. 

"  You  may  smile,  my  dear  Esther;  but  I  do  honestly  think 
so.  As  to  Mr.  Gordon,  he  must  be  an  extremely  bad  man.  I 
must  say  I  did  not  think  he  would  have  acted  so  wickedly." 

"  I  only  said  that  they  suspected,"  said  Esther,  coldly. 
"  So  far  as  I  can  glean,  there  is  no  evidence  against  him;  it 
is  mere  suspicion  on  their  part  based  on  the  fact  that  the  two 
persons  left  Vancourt  about  the  same  time.'' 

Selby  Laytou  had  listened  intently,  looking  from  one  to  tho 
other.  He  hal  been  so  absorbed  of  late  in  his  own  terrible 
affairs,  that  he  had  not  given  much  attention  to  outside  mat- 
ters, and  being  ignorant  of  what  had  passed  between  Jack 
Gordon  and  Esther,  had  regarded  him  as  of  no  importance. 
He  did  not  like  the  man,  had  thought  him  presumptuous, 
and  above  his  place,  and  he  would  have  joined  Miss  Worcester 
in  her  prompt  condemnation  of  Jack  Gordon,  from  sheer  dis- 
like; but  he  was  quick  to  take  his  cue  from  Esther's  wcrds. 

"  Country  people  are  always  suspicious,"  he  said,  smoothly. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Gordon  has  had  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  girl,  aud  is  quite  innocent." 

Esther  looked  at  him  almost  gratefully,  and  he  smiled  at 
her  and  at  once  followed  up  his  success. 

"  At  any  rate,  there  is  no  difficulty  hi  discovering  the 
truth.  Mr.  Gordon  can  be  communicated  with — he  has  left 
his  address,  I  presume?" 

Esther  bit  her  lip  softly,  but  she  replied  calmly  enough: 

"No,  he  has  not." 

Selby  Lay  ton  raised  his  brows  slightly,  bat  only  slightly, 
and  Esther  want  on: 


238  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  I  think  he  was  going  to  London;  but  I  imagine  his  move' 
ments  were  rather  uncertain,  and  that  he  was  going  in  search 
of  work.'* 

"  He  had  a  very  good  situation  here,  had  he  not?  Why 
did  he  throw  it  up?"  asked  Selby  Layton,  not  suspiciously, 
but  pleasantly  enough. 

Esther  fought  against  her  rising  color. 

"  He  may  have  wanted  a  change,"  she  said,  bending  over 
her  letters. 

Miss  Worcester  came  to  her  aid. 

"  I  should  think  he  was  the  sort  of  man  that  would  never 
rest  contented  anywhere,"  she  said.  "  The  first  time  we 
saw  him  he  looked  like  a  common  tramp,  and,  though  Esther 
was  very  favourably  impressed,  I  thought  at  the  time  it  was 
rather  unwise  to  engage  a  man  of  whom  we  knew  nothing — " 

"  Except  that  he  probably  saved  Martin's  life  at  the  risk 
of  his  own,"  said  Esther,  quickly,  and  with  a  flash  of  her 
dark  grey  eyes. 

"  A  man  capable  of  such  heroism  is  not  likely  to  be  guilty 
of  persuading  a  girl  to  leave  her  home,"  said  Selby  Layton. 
"  I  met  him  once  or  twice,  and  I  must  say  he  struck  me  as 
being  a  very  decent  sort  of  fellow." 

"He  was,"  said  Esther,  dryly.  "I  am  sure  he  is  not 
guilty;  but  the  difficulty  is  to  prove  it  I  have  promised  to 
nave  some  enquiries  made  quite  privately;  but  I  am  sure  I  do 
not  know  how  to  set  about  it.  If  the  suspicions  are  un- 
founded, it  would  be  doing  both  Mr.  Gordon  and  the  girl  an 
injustice  to  make  them  public." 

"  Quite  so,"  assented  Selby  Layton.  "  But  I  should  think 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  tracing  both  him  and  the  girl." 

"  I  wish  it  could  be  done,"  said  Esther,  earnestly  and  with 
a  sigh. 

Much  as  he  desired  to  bring  matters  to  a  conclusion  with 
Esther  and  obtain  her  sanction  to  a  definite  engagement,  Selby 
Layton  was  rather  anxious  to  leave  Vanconrt  for  a  few  days, 
at  any  rate.  Here  was  an  opportunity  for  getting  away  and 
placing  her  under  an  obligation. 

"  Let  me  try,"  he  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

Esther  looked  at  him  quickly,  but  Miss  Worcester's  sense 
of  propriety  was  shocked  by  his  proposal. 

Keally,  Mr.  Layton,  I  don't  think  it's  the  proper  thing 
for  you  to  do!  I  don't  think  yo»  ought  to  mix  yourself  up  iu 
Buch  a  dreadful  affair;  and  the  idea  of  your  playing  the  part 
of  private  detective  is  ridiculous.  There  are  especially  quali- 
fied persons  whom  Esther  could  employ,  if  she  .is  bent  upoi 


LOVE,   THE  TYRANT.  239 

finding  what  has  become  of  the  girl;  though  I  should  strongly 
advise  her  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  It  is  not 
fitting  that  a  lady  of  her  position,  to  say  nothing  of  a  gentle- 
man of  %  ours,  should  concern  herself  with  so  vulgar  and — er 
— improper  an  affair." 

"  But  I  have  given  my  promise,  aunt,"  said  Esther;  "  and 
the  Transoms  are  my  people.  Mr  Gordon  was  my — my 
servant,  and  the  fact  that  I  employed  him  without  making 
enquiries  adds  to  my  responsibility." 

"  Forgive  me!  But  I  cannot  admit  that,"  said  Selby  Lay- 
ton,  sweetly.  "  But  the  mere  fact  that  you  feel  interested  in 
the  matter  is  quite  sufficient  reason  why  I  should  try  to  find 
them.  I  have  some  business  in  town,  and  I  will  go  to  Lon- 
don to-day.  I  shall  quite  enjoy  playing  the  part  of  amateur 
detective — with  all  deference  to  Miss  Worcester,  for  whose 
judgment  I  have  the  most  profound  respect;  indeed,  I  find 
that  whenever  I  disagree  with  her,  she  invariably  prores  her- 
self to  have  been  right  and  myself  wrong." 

He  bestowed  one  of  his  charming  little  bows  upon  that 
lady,  who  was  at  once  mollified. 

"  I  shall  have  an  advantage  over  the  ordinary  detective," 
he  said,  "  because  I  know  both  the  persons,  whereas  he  would 
be  guided  only  by  descriptions.  I  believe  I  shall  find  them — 
or  one  of  them — quite  easily.  Have  you  any  idea  in  what 
direction,  in  what  part  of  London,  Mr.  Gordon  is  likely  to 
have  gone?" 

Esther  raised  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  he  may  have  gone  to  the  docks  in  search  of  work 
—that  is  in  the  East  End,  isn't  it? — or  he  may  have  gone 
abroad." 

"  Just  so!"  assented  Selby  Layton,  as  he  rose  briskly.  "  I 
will  have  my  things  packed  and  start  on  my  quest  at  once." 

"  Is  there  any  need  for  such  hurry?"  asked  Miss  Worcester. 

"  It  is  never  wise  to  delay  in  such  cases,"  he  responded; 
and  he  nodded  and  smiled  as  he  left  the  room. 

"  I  do  think  Mr.  Layton  is  the  best-natured  man  I  ever 
met!"  remarked  Miss  Worcester.  "  Think  of  his  offering  to 
rush  up  to  London  on  such  a  wild  goose  chase — for  of  course 
he'll  never  find  them:  how  could  he! — just  because  you  feel 
an  interest  in  the  matter.  Fancy  him  trapesing  about  all 
sorts  of  disagreeable  places  in  such  hot  weather!  Really,  my 
dear  Esther,  you  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  him  for  sacrific- 
ing himself  to  what  I  really  must  call  a  mere  whim  of  yours." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  grateful,"  said  Esther,  quietly,  as  she 
passed  out.  of  the  room  ou  to  the  terrace. 


240  tOfVH,  THE  TYRAOT. 

And,  indeed,  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  be  grateful.  From 
the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance  he  had  been  of  service  to 
her;  and — arid — he  loved  her.  Half  unconsciously  she  tried 
to  draw  a  comparison  between  him  and  Jack  Gordon,  tried  to 
tell  herself  that  Selby  Layton  was  the  better  and  worthier 
man,  and  she  was  still  endeavouring  to  elevate  him  to  the  first 
place  in  her  regard  when  Selby  Layton  joined  her. 

"  It  occurs  to  me  that  I  had  better  go  down  and  interview 
the  girl's  father,"  he  said.  "  I  must  take  some  notes,  in 
proper  detective  fashion.  How  hot  it  is!  May  I  get  you  a 
hat  or  a  sunshade?" 

"  won't  trouble,  please,"  she  said.  "  I — I  want  to  thank 
you,  Mr.  Layton,  for  your  kindness  in  gratifying  what  my 
aunt  calls  a  whim.  I  know  that  this  business  will  give  you  a 
great  deal  of  trouble;  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  you." 

Selby  Lay  ton's  heart  beat  quickly  and  a  flush  rose  to  his 
face,  which  had  grown  pale  and  somewhat  haggard  during  the 
last  two  days. 

"  There  is  no  cause  for  your  gratitude,"  he  said  in  his  low, 
sweet  voice.  *'  I  am  more  than  repaid  by  your  expression  of 
approval;  it  is  the  object  of  my  life  to  win  it;  ana  a  simple 
*  thank  you  '  from  you  is  more  precious  to  ine  than  any  other 
guerdon  could  be.  Ah,  forgive  me!  But  you  know  that  I 
would  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  world,  face  death  itself  to 
win  even  a  smile  from  you." 

"  That  is  a  very  small  reward,"  said  Esther,  trying  to 
speak  lightly. 

"  Perhaps  some  day  you  will  grant  me  a  larger  one,"  he 
murmured.  "  Dare  I  hope — ?  but  I  will  not  taks  advantage 
of  this  trifling  service.  1  promised  that  I  would  wait  until 
you  could  give  me  what  I  desired  of  your  own  accord,  of  your 
own  free  will.  You  will  not  forget  me  while  I  am  a  way- 
Esther!" 

His  admirably  trained  voice  was  like  a  flute  when  he  pro- 
nounced her  name;  but  musical  as  it  was,  it  jarred  upon 
Esther,  and  she  shivered  slightly.  It  was  as  if  she  felt  a  hand 
gripping  her  softly  but  firmly,  holding,  imprisoning  her;  but 
she  felt  that  this  repulsion  was  unjust  to  him  and  ungrateful, 
and  she  forced  herself  to  murmur: 

"  I  will  not  forget  you — and  all  your  kindness." 

Selby  Layton  was  sorely  tempted  to  press  his  advantage; 
but  he  knew  instinctively  that  the  risk  was  too  great,  that  he 
might  lose  all  by  pressing  her  too  hard. 

But  as  he  walked  towards  the  village  he  felt  that  he  Wiic 
nriza.  It  was  strange  how  well  things  had  cone 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  241 

for  him  siutJe— smce  Denzil  had  been  removed  rrom  his  path! 

Such  men  as  Selby  Layton,  though  they  laugh  at  suspicion, 
have  a  sneaking  belief  in  luck;  and  he  felt  that  his  luck  was 
in  the  ascendant.  He  would  have  no  difficulty  in  tracing  the 
man  and  the  girl,  one  or  either  of  them,  and  he  would  come. 
back  tf»  the  Towers  to  receive  Esther's  gratitude.  She  would 
have  time  to  think  of  the  service  he  was  doing  her,  would  no 
doubt  miss  him;  for  Selby  Layton  was  quite  aware  of  his 
manifold  charms,  and  that  the  two  women  would  find  the 
Towers  dull  without  his  presence,  and  the  long  evenings 
rather  dreary  without  his  playing  and  singing.  He  avoided 
the  wood  on  his  way  to  the  village  and  thrust  its  tragic  as- 
sociations from  his  mind,  concentrating  it  on  the  thought,  as 
he  looked  round  upon  the  smiling  landscape,  that  before  long 
he  would  share  its  possession  with  its  beautiful  mistress. 

As  he  went  past  the  Vancourt  Arms,  he  saw  Dick  Reeve 
standing  at  the  door  with  a  glass  in  his  hand;  the  man's  dark 
face  was  flushed  as  if  he  had  been  drinking,  and  as  Selby  Lay- 
ton  gave  him  a  pleasant,  condescending  nod,  Dick  Reeve  took 
his  glass  from  his  lips  and  returned  the  nod  with  an  air  half 
insolent,  half  sullen.  Selby  Layton  noticed  the  man's  man- 
ner and  resented  it. 

"  A  loafing  ruffian,  that!"  he  said  to  himself,  cynically. 
"  I'll  give  you  a  taste  of  quod,  my  friend,  when  I  become 
master  here;  I  won't  have  any  poachers  and  scamps  hanging 
about  my  property." 

He  went  down  the  village  bestowing  a  nod  and  a  pleasant 
greeting  upon  those  he  met,  and  walked  up  the  garden  path 
to  the  Transoms'  cottage.  The  door  was  open,  and  Transom 
was  seated  by  the  hearth,  with  a  pie  in  his  mouth,  and  his 
head  resting  on  his  hand.  The  food  which  Kate  had  put  out 
for  him,  with  a  pathetic  thoughtful  ness,  lay  untouched  on 
the  table;  the  fire  had  gone  out,  and  the  solitary  man  sat 
staring  at  its  ashes. 

He  looked  at  the  carefully  dressed  figure  on  the  threshold, 
but  did  not  take  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  or  rise. 

Selby  Layton  removed  his  hat,  and  stepped  in,  with  a  grave 
and  sympathetic  "  Good-morning,  Transom!  Can  I  speak 
With  you?" 

"  Aye,  sir,"  said  Transom,  gloomily.     "  What  is  it?" 

"  I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  about  your  sad  loss,"  said 
Selby  Layton  in  the  voice  he  had  selected  as  proper  to  the  oc- 
casion. "  Miss  Vancourt  has  just  been  telling  me  of  it.  She 
is  deeply  grieved  by  your  daughter's  disappearance,  and  is  ex- 
tremely aasioua  to  learn  what  has  become  of  her;  and.  at  he/ 


242  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

desire,  I  am  going  up  to  London  to  see  if  I  can  traee  her.  If 
you  can  give  me  any  information  which  would  be  likely  to  as* 
sist  me — " 

Transom  looked  up  at  him  moodily. 

"  I  have  told  Miss  Vancourt  all  I  know,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
suppose  she  has  told  you.  1  don't  know  where  my  girl  has 
gone:  but  if  you  find  Mr.  Gordon  you'll  find  her." 

"  You  feel  convinced  of  that?"  said  Selby  Layton,  sharply. 

Transom  nodded  sullenly  but  emphatically. 

"  There's  not  much  doubt,  sir,"  he  said.  "  There's  none 
in  my  mind,  after  what  I've  heard.  He's  been  carrying  om 
with  her  ever  since  he  came.  Yes!  She  has  gone  after  him." 

"  Don't  lose  heart,"  said  Selby  Layton,  masking  his  com- 
plete indifference  with  an  affectation  of  sympathy,  and  speak- 
ing in  the  tone  of  voice  which  a  clergyman  uses  when  he  is 
paying  a  visit  of  condolence.  "  I  will  do  my  best  to  find 
them,  and  I've  no  doubt  that  I  shall  succeed;  if  I  do  so,  rest 
assured  that  I  will  do  my  best  to  restore  your  daughter  to 
you." 

Transom  looked  at  him  sideways  and  with  a  curious  expres- 
sion, an  expression  in  which,  it  struck  Selby  Layton,  there 
was  a  trace  of  cunning.  It  rather  puzzled  him.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  find  the  man  broken  down  by  grief  or  furious  with 
rage  and  paternal  resentment;  but  there  was  not  much  of  the 
ouinged  father  in  Transom's  manner;  he  had  not  broken 
out  into  a  string  of  upbraiding  or  cursed  the  man  whom  he 
suspected  of  betraying  his  daughter. 

"  It's  no  use  bringing  her  back,  sir,"  he  said.  "  If  you're 
going  to  be  so  kind  as  to  go  in  search  of  her,  and  you  find 
them,  persuade  him,  force  him  to  marry  her.  Tell  him  that 
it's  more  than  his  life's  worth  to  deal  unfairly  by  her.  Make 
him  marry  her." 

Selby  Layton  eyed  him  curiously. 

"  I  may  have  some  difficulty  in  doing  that,  Transom,"  he 
said.  "  You  must  not  forget  that,  if  they  are  together,  your 
daughter  followed  him  of  her  own  acccrd,  that  she  has  placed 
herself  in  his  hands,  is  entirely  at  his  mercy." 

Transom  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  were  considering 
deeply,  then  he  said: 

Kate  was  always  a  good  gal,  sir,  until — until  he  came.  I 
don't  believe  as  she'd  do  wrong.  If  she's  gone  after  him  he 
must  have  promised  to  marry  her,  and  a  word  from  \ou 
might  do  it.  Tell  him — "  he  paused  as  if  weighing  his 
words;  "  tell  him  that  he  needn't  be  troubled  about  her  be- 
longings* I  sha'a't  trouble  him..  I  don't  want  to  stand  it 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANTS  243 

her  way.  Ffl  clear  out  of  this  so  as  not  to  be  a  stumbling- 
block  to  'em.  I  ain't  of  a  grasping  nature;  a  hundred  a  year 
paid  reglar  will  satisfy  me,  tell  him." 

Selby  Lay  ton's  brows  went  up  with  surprise. 

"  Did  you  mean  that  I  am  to  ask  this  man  Gordon  to  mako 
you  an  allowance  of  a  hundred  a  year?"  he  said.  "  Why,  he 
IB  quite  a  poor  man,  a  sort  of  tramp.  How  could  he  mak? 
you  such  an  allowance?" 

Transom  gnawed  at  his  lip  and  scratched  his  head,  as  if  he 
were  confused. 

"  Well,  you  can't  tell,  sir,"  he  said,  hesitatingly.  "  He's 
— he's  a  clever  sort  of  gentleman;  he  might  get  work,  might 
— might  have  a  bit  of  money  left  him.  Anyways,  if  you'd  be 
so  kind  to  give  him  my  message  in  just  them  words  I  should 
be  grateful,  and  I  think  it  might  be  of  some  use." 

Selby  Layton  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  speaking  in  his 
natural  voice  now,  slightly  sarcastic  and  cynical,  said: 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I'll  give  him  your  message;  though  it 
sounds  to  me  rather  ridiculous." 

Transom  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  Hush!"  he  said,  warningly.  "  Here's  Dick  Reevei 
Don't  tell  him  what  I  said." 

Dick  Reeve  came  up  the  path  and  leant  in  the  door-way, 
eyeing  the  other  two  sardonically. 

"  I've  just  been  telling  Transom  here  that,  at  Miss  Van- 
court's  desire,  I  am  going  in  search  of  his  daughter,"  said 
Selby  Layton,  suavely. 

Dick  Reeve  nodded.  His  black  eyes  glowed  fiercely,  his 
lips  twitched. 

"  Oh,  so  you're  going,  are  you!"  he  said,  insolently. 
"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  find  her?" 

Selby  Layton  drew  himself  up  and  regarded  the  man  with 
a  haughtiness  which  appeared  to  have  no  effect  upon  him. 

"  Bring  her  back,  Dick;  bring  her  back!"  Transom  said, 
quickly  and  huskily. 

"  Oh,  all  right!"  said  Dick  Reeve,  with  fierce  sarcasm; 
"  but  how  do  I  know  he's  coming  back  himself.  How  do  I 
know  he  isn't  going  to  off  it  too!"  and  he  laughed  with  a 
kind  of  drunken  ferocity. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  you  mean,  my  good  man," 
said  Selby  Layton,  haughtily. 

"  I  daresay  not!"  retorted  Dick  Reeve.  "  Of  course  you 
don't!  But  you  ain't  going  without  leaving  your  address,  at 
any  rate.  I  want  to  know  where  I  can  find  you  it  I  wan. 
you,  if  jou  don't  turn  up." 


244  KJVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

Selby  Layton  reddened  resentfully;  bat  he  told  himself  thte 
it  would  be  foolish  to  be  angry  with  a  drunken  man. 

"  You  want  my  address?    Certainly!"  he  said,  smoothly. 

He  took  out  his  card  case,  but  it  was  empty. 

"  I  haven't  a  card,  I  see!"  he  said.  "  I  will  write  it  for 
you.  Can  you  give  me  a  piece  of  paper,  a  pen  or  pencil? 
Ah,  this  will  do." 

He  took  an  envelope  from  his  pocket,  and  Transom  rose 
and  looked  vaguely  for  a  pen  and  ink. 

"  Here's  a  pen,"  said  Dick  Reeve,  with  a  sardonic  laugh; 
and  he  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Selby 
Layton. 

Then  he  paused  and  drew  his  hand  out  empty. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Selby  Layton,  "  1  have  a  pencil." 

He  wrote  the  address  on  the  envelope  and  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

"  There,  my  friend,"  he  said;  "  that  will  find  me.  Good- 
day,  Transom.  I  trust  I  shall  be  successful  in  my  search  for 
your  daughter." 

*'  Good-day,  sir,"  returned  Transom.  "  You — yon  won't 
forget  my  message?"  he  added,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Dick  Reeve,  who  stood,  swaying  slightly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
address  Selby  Laylon  had  given  him. 

"  Certainly  not.     I  will  not  forget!"  said  Selby  Layton. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

JACK  GORDON"  wondered  what  the  parcel,  which  the  young 
woman  seemed  so  anxious  to  conceal  from  him,  contained; 
but  he  was  not  particularly  curious,  and  not  very  much  in- 
terested. Jn  London  one  grows  accustomed  to  the  mystery 
which  surrounds  one's  nearest  neighbour;  it  is  quite  possible 
to  live  next  door  to  a  man  for  years  without  knowing  hia 
name,  and  one  feels  no  great  surprise  on  discovering  one 
morning  thar,  he  is  an  eminent  statesman  or  a  notorious  thief. 

Jack  was  too  absorbed  in  his  own  affairs,  and  in  his  hope- 
less love,  to  bestow  much  attention  on  or  to  give  much 
thought  to  his  fellow  lodger;  but  he  did  mention  to  Mordy 
Jane  when  he  came  home  to  dinner  next  day  that  the  occu- 
pant of  his  former  room  had  slipped  on  coming  up  the  stairs 
the  preceding  night  and  that  he  hoped  that  she  hadn't 
sprained  her  ankle. 

"  Oh,  slipped,  did  she?"  said  Mordy  Jane,  with  her  pre- 
cocious sharpness;  "  that's  the  first  time  I  knowed  her  like 


LOVE,    THE  TYRANT.  245 

"  You're  quite  mistaken,  Mordy  Jane,"  said  Jack.     "  Sh- 

as  perfectly  sober." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mordy  Jane.  "  I  haven't  seed 
her  go  out  to-day;  but  sometimes  she  doesn't  go  out  till  quite 
the  evening." 

"  I  would  go  up  see  how  she  was,"  suggested  Jack. 

"  Well,  p'r'aps  I  might,"  said  Mordy  Jane.  "  Not  that  I 
like  to  interfere  with  the  lodgers,  especially  when  they  keeps 
theirselves  to  theirselves  as  Miss  Woods  does.  It's  never  more 
than  '  good-evening,  Miss  Jacob,'  or  p'r'aps,  '  Mordy  Jane,' 
and  it's  never  more  than  *  good-evening,  Miss  Woods,  an'  I 
hope  you're  well,'  from  me.  We're  always  what  you  might 
call  civil  but  distant" 

"  Well,"  said  Jack,  **  you  run  upstairs,  Mordy  Jane,  and 
ask  how  she  is;  that  will  be  civil,  and  you  can  maintain  the 
distance  by  keeping  outside  the  door.  I've  an  idea,  I  don't 
know  why,  that  she'd  rather  you  didn't  go  in;  she  looked  so 
scared  when  she  dropped  her  bundle,  and  she  closed  the  door 
upon  me  pretty  sharply." 

"  Her  bundle?"  said  Mordy  Jane,  sharply,  "  you  didn't 
say  anything  about  a  bundle  and  I  never  saw  her  with  one." 

"  Well,  she  may  not  carry  it  every  night,"  said  Jack.  "  It 
was  a  small  bundle  and  she  must  have  carried  it  under  her 
cloak,  for  I  didn't  see  it  until  it  actually  dropped." 

"  There's  what  you  might  call  a  'idden  myst'ry  about  Miss 
Woods,'"'  said  Mordy  Jane,  musingly,  as  she  helped  Jack  to 
potatoes.  "  Father  thinks  she's  in  the  profession  because  of 
ner  'air;  but  I  tells  him  you  can  dye  yer  'air  without  being  a 
music-hall  arteeste." 

"  She  lives  quite  alone?"  said  Jack. 

"  Yes,  and  nobody  ever  comes  to  see  her,  not  even  on  Sun- 
days; and  she  don't  work  in  any  of  the  factories  here  or  else 
I  should  know  of  it.  That's  why  I  call  her  a  'idden  myst'ry, 
like  what  you  read  of  in  the  novelettes —  Father,  drink  yer 
beer  before  it  gets  flat.  Father  moons  wus  than  ever,  Mr. 
Gordon.  That's  the  worst  of  the  boot-making  trade;  it  seems 
as  if  you  can  do  it  while  you're  half  asleep,  after  you've  been 
dpin'  it  for  so  many  years.  Now,  you've  just  got  time  for  a 
pipe,  young  man,  before  yon  go  back  to  your  work.  Here's 
;onr  tobacco  and  here's  the  matches." 

While  Jack  was  obediently  smoking  his  pipe— for  the 
child,  she  was  little  more,  dominated  Jack  almost  as  com- 
pletely  as  she  did  her  father — she  went  upstairs  to  interview 
Miss  Woods. 

She  came  down  again  presently  with  her  ridiculous  bonnet 


246  LOVE,   THE  TTRA1TP. 

a  little  more  on  one  side  than  usual,  her  childishly  shrewd 
face  red,  and  her  chin  uptilted. 

"  Oh,  she  says  she's  all  right,"  she  informed  Jack;  "  that 
she  didn't  hurt  herself  last  night,  but  that  I'm  to  tell  you 
she'  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  down  the  stairs  to 
help  her — at  least,  that's  what  I  think  she  said;  but  she 
didn't  srjeak  very  loud,  and  she  kept  the  door  closed  as  if  she 
was  afraid  if  she  opened  it  I  should  rush  in  and  steal  some- 
thing. I  don't  'old  with  such  suspicious  ways  meself.  But 
there!  different  people  has  different  ways.  It's  about  time 
you  was  goin',  isn't  it?  Father,  you  can  get  back  to  your 
bench  again,  as  you're  pining  to.  I  really  do  believe  you're 
never  happy  without  a  boot  in  your  hand.  There's  that 
Tommy  Rogers  knocking  holes  in  the  door  with  his  top 
again.  Tommy!" — in  a  shiill  voice  that  rang  through  Jack's 
and  her  father's  ears  and  struck  Tommy  with  sudden  dismay 
— "  you  take  that  top  of  yours  and  play  on  your  own  door- 
step. It'll  fly  into  the  room  presently  and  'it  father  on  the 
'ead,  an'  then  you  an'  your  top' 11  be  tried  for  murder,  and 
serve  you  right,  too.  There's  too  many  kids  in  Chase  Street, 
Mr.  Gordon;  they  makes  life  a  burden." 

She  darted  passed  Jack  in  pursuit  of  Tommy,  who  had  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  put  out  his  tongue  at  her  before  taking 
flight,  and  had  bolted  down  the  street. 

Jack  went  back  to  his  work,  and  thought  no  more  of  the 
"  'idden  myst'ry  "  of  Miss  Woods.  He  tried  to  think  as  little 
of  Esther  Vancourt;  but  that  was  impossible.  It  was  very 
hot  at  the  docks  that  day,  and  the  work  was  particularly 
hard;  but  he  was  not  sorry  for  the  last  fact,  for  Jack  did  not 
care  how  hard  the  work  was,  so  long  as  it  was  physical  and 
not  mental;  but  it  certainly  did  occur  to  him  that  it  would  be 
as  well,  perhaps,  if  he  went  back  to  Australia  or  one  of  the 
other  colonies.  But,  though  he  had  resolved  not  to  go  back 
to  Vancourt,  it  was  hard  for  him  to  make  up  his  mind  to  put 
the  seas  between  himself  and  Esther. 

Siill,  the  idea  of  Australia  hung  in  his  mind,  so  to  speak, 
and  that  evening  after  supper  he  went  out  for  a  stroll  to  con- 
sider the  pros  and  cons.  He  was  passfeig  through  one  of  the 
crowded  thoroughfares  when  he  saw  a  small  crowd  collected 
round  something  or  some  one.  He  was  passing  by  without 
any  cuiiosity  to  ascertain  the  cause,  for  crowds  are  common 
in  London  streets,  when  he  heard  one  of  the  bystanders  ex- 
claim: 

"  Poor  thing!  and  she  a  widow,  tool  The  police  ought  to 
be  more  sharper!" 


I07E,  THE  TYRANTi  247 

Jack  palled  np  mechanically  and  asked  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. A  lady  with  a  cabbage  and  a  pound  of  candles  undei 
her  arm  made  haste  to  inform  him. 

"  A  liciy  has  nad  her  pocket  picked,"  she  said,  with  indig- 
nant sympathy.  "  They've  beeu  an'  took  'er  purse  with  all 
'er  money — seven  an'  sixpence  halfpenny  and  a  return  ticket 
to  Chelinsford,  where  she  was  goin'  back  to  'er  son,  who's 
bin's  dangerously  ill  with  an  incurable  complaint.  It's  all 
the  money  she  'ave;  an'  she  a  widow,  too,  poor  woman!" 

Jack  looked  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  and  saw  in  the 
middle  a  woman  decently  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  with  the 
frill  of  muslin  in  her  bonnet,  which  nowadays  indicates  the 
widow.  She  had  her  handkerchief  up  and  was  crying  quietly, 
while  two  or  three  women  round  her  were  endeavouring  to 
console  her  in  the  fluent  Cockney  language,  and  begging  her 
to  "  keep  up." 

Jack,  who  possessed  a  heart  that  was  as  readily  touched  by 
the  sight  of  a  woman  in  distress  as  that  of  an  Adelphi  hero, 
took  out  half  a  crown  and  handed  it  to  the  woman  who  was 
nearest  to  the  plundered  widow,  and  with  a  nod,  and  a  "  Give 
her  that,"  passed  on  his  way.  When  he  got  home  he  related 
the  incident,  omitting  any  mention  of  the  half  crown  to 
Mordy  Jane,  who  was  unsympathetic  to  remark,  that  the 
woman  must  have  been  a  Juggins  to  let  anyone  pick  her 
pocket,  and  that  she,  Mordy  Jane,  would  like  to  see  anyone 
trying  it  on  with  her! 

The  following  evening  Jack,  while  walking  in  quite  an  op- 
posite direction,  saw  a  similar  crowd,  and  on  stopping  to 
ascertain  the  cause,  was  somewhat  nettled,  though  grimly 
amused,  to  find  that  a  decently  dressed  widow  had  just  had 
her  pocket  picked,  and  that  in  addition  to  the  loss  of  her 
money,  she  had  been  deprived  of  a  return  ticket  to  Winches- 
ter, where  a  husband  with  a  broken  leg  anxiously  awaited 
her.  Jack  made  a  rapid  calculation  as  to  the  quantity  of 
tobacco  he  could  have  bought  for  that  half  crown,  and  for  a 
moment  was  tempted  to  give  the  woman  into  custody  and 
charge  her  with  the  ingenious  fraud;  but,  of  course,  he 
thought  better  of  it,  and  with  a  smile  at  his  own  simplicity 
and  credulity,  he  left  the  clever  imposter  to  gather  the  re- 
ward of  her  ingenuity  from  the  sympathising  spectators  of  her 
fictitious  distress. 

He  made  rather  a  long  round  of  it  that  night,  and  was  en- 
tering the  upper  end  of  Chase  Street,  when  he  saw  a  woman 
dressed  in  black  walking  down  the  street  just  in  front  of  him. 
There  seemed  to  be  something  familiar  to  him  about  hex 


248  Wm,  THB  TYRANT. 


figure,  and  as  she  turned  into  a  small  court  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  face.  That,  too,  seemed  familiar  to  him;  and, 
as  he  saw  that  she  wore  a  widow's  bonnet,  he  recognised  her 
as  the  woman  he  had  seen  on  the  last  two  evenings  playing 
the  "  pickpocket  dodge." 

The  court  was  a  cul-de-sac,  and,  though  Jack  did  not  know 
it,  the  resort  of  Ihieves  and  similar  gentry.  He  paused  at  the 
mouth  of  the  court  and  looked  in  absently,  and  as  he  paused 
the  figure  of  a  woman  emerged  from  one  of  the  deep  door- 
ways within,  and  passed  him  hiding  her  head  down  and  walk- 
ing quickly.  As  she  passed  from  the  darkness  of  the  court 
into  the  ligjht  thrown  by  the  grimy  lamp,  Jack  caught  the 
glimpse  of  canary-colored  hair,  at  once  thought  of  Miss 
Woods,  his  fellow-lodger,  and  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find 
that  she  resembled  her.  He  walked  on  behind  her,  and  pres- 
ently saw  that  it  was  indeed  the  lady  whom  Mordy  Jane  called 
a  "  'idden  myst'ry."  She  stopped  at  the  Jacobs'  door,  and 
hurriedly  inserting  a  key,  looked  round  furtively  and  anx- 
iously, and  seeing  Jack  close  behind  her,  she  uttered  a  little 
exclamation,  a  mixture  of  fear  and  recognition,  and  stood 
with  a  nervous,  deprecatory  smile  on  her  faded  face.  In  her 
hurry  she  had  stuck  the  key  in  crookedly  and  could  not  open 
the  door.  Of  course  Jack  opened  it  for  her,  and  with  many 
thanks  she  took  the  key  from  him  and  went  upstairs,  holding 
the  balustrade  as  she  had  done  on  the  night  he  had  first  seen 
her.  He  noticed  that  she  kept  her  left  arm  under  her  cloak, 
which  was  loose  and  grey  in  colour.  She  closed  the  bedroom 
door  quickly,  so  that  if  he  had  desired  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  room  —  which  he  certainly  did  not—Jack  could  not  have 
done  so. 

In  the  morning  Jack  told  Mordy  Jane  of  his  second  hap- 
pening on  the  guileful  widow.  Mordy  Jane  nodded  know- 
ingly. 

"  I  thought  there  was  some  take-in  in  it,"  she  said; 
'  '  widows,  as  a  reg'lar  thing,  are  too  sharp  to  be  'ad  even  by 
pickpockets.  That  court  you  saw  her  go  down  is  calledfPiper'g 
Sack;  and  they're  a  reg'lar  bad  lot  down  there." 

"  I  wonder  what  Miss  Woods  was  doing  there  last  night," 
said  Jack,  half  to  himself;  but  Mordy's  sharp  ears  heard  him- 

"  Did  you  see  her  there?"  she  asked.  "I  shouldn't  have 
thought  it  of  her.  That's  rum!  Well,  that  makes  'er  more 
of  a  idden  myst'ry  than  ever." 

Jack  laughed  as  he-  lit  his  pipe  and  went  out;  there  seemed 
to  him  so  very  Jittle  of  the  mysterious  in  his  fellow-lodger, 
excepting  that  aha  carried  beneath  her  cloak  a  bundle  which 


I0VE,  THE  TYEJJST.  249 

she  evidently  desired  to  conceal,  but  which  probably  «pn- 
taintd  nothing  more  mysterious  than  some  dress  materials 
upon  which  she  worked  during  the  day. 

For  all  his  hard  work,  time  dragged  very  slowly  for  Jack, 
and  he  began  to  think  more  seriously  of  Australia.  Though 
now  and  again  he  held  short  conversations  with  his  fellow- 
labourers  and  smoked  a  pipe  in  a  shady  corner  with  some 
man  who  happened  to  be  engaged  on  the  same  job  with  him 
he  made  no  friends  or  acquaintances,  and  always  returned 
from  the  docks  to  the  Jacobs'  directly  his  work  was  over. 
One  evening,  however,  he  went  up  to  the  Lambeth  baths  and 
had  a  swim;  and  after  his  bath,  feeling  rather  hungry,  he 
turned  in  at  a  coffee-house  and  had  some  supper;  then  he  lit 
his  pipe,  and  prepared  to  walk  home  to  Chase,  Street. 

He  was  crossing  Lambeth  bridge  in  the  faint  grey  light 
which  comes  from  the  pallid  moon  which  shines  above  Lon- 
don in  the  summer,  when  he  saw  a  girl  leaning  agains^.  the 
side  of  the  bridge. 

Her  attitude  was  one  of  utter  weariness  and  dejection,  her 
head  was  leaning  on  her  hand,  her  elbow  on  the  bridge  cop- 
ing; the  other  hand  hung  limply  by  her  side,  and  her  head 
was  drooped,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on"  the  pea-soup  river  which 
flows  beneath  that  most  sordid  of  bridges. 

There  was  something  in  the  attitude,  the  drooping  of  the 
figure,  that  appealed  to  Jack.  She  looked  so  lonely,  so  de- 
jected, such  an  embodiment  of  the  weariness  of  the  great 
city,  that  weariness  which  every  Londoner  has  felt  some  time 
or  other. 

Jack  paused  and,  affecting  to  look  over  his  side  of  the 
bridge,  glanced  at  her.  A  shawl  concealed  her  head  and  her 
face,  as  it  was  turned  from  him;  but  suddenly  the  shawl 
dipped  slightly,  and  even  in  that  murky  light  Jack  caught 
the  glimpse  of  gold-bronze  hair — a  golden  bronze  which  re- 
called to  him  the  marvellous  colour  of  Kate  Transom's;  just 
as  the  canary  hue  of  the  hair  of  the  woman  emerging  from 
the  court  had  recalled  Miss  Woods. 

"  That  turned  out  bo  be  my  mysterious  lodger,"  said  Jack 
to  himself  i  "  but,  thank  goodness!  this  girl,  though  she's  got 
the  same  coloured  hair  as  Kate  Transom,  can't  be  Kate." 

At  that  moment  the  girl  drew  a  long  breath — it  was  almost 
a  sob — and  clasping  her  arms,  let  her  head  fall  upon  them 
with  a  gesture  of  infinite  despair;  then  she  raised  her  head 
and  looked  from  the  water  to  the  railing  of  the  bridge  an<? 
back  a^ain. 
.  Instinctively.  Jack  knew  what  that  ariance  meant:  she  was 


250  IOVE,  THE  TYBAOT. 

thinking  about  throwing  herself  over.     He  strode  across  th« 
roadway  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm  without  a  word. 

She  uttered  a  low  cry  and  recoiled  from  his  touch,  the 
shawl  fell  from  her  face,  and  to  his  amazement  he  saw  that  it 
Was  Kate  Transom. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  moment,  but  gazed  at  each 
other  with  mutual  wonder  and  incredulity.  Her  face  was 
deathly  white,  her  lips  livid,  and  there  was  a  pinched  look 
about  her  cheeks  and  nose  which  Jack  knew  well;  for  he  had 
once  been  one  of  a  party  that  had  lost  its  way  in  the  bush  had 
been  without  food  for  three  days.  If  he  could  believe  his 
eyes,  if  he  were  not  dreaming,  this  was  Kate  Transom  whom 
he  had  left  at  Vancourt,  Kate  Transom  alone  in  London,  and 
apparently  starvirig. 

She  continued  to  gaze  at  him,  as  if  she  indeed  were  in  a 
dream,  whatever  he  might  be,  as  if  she  were  looking  on  a 
vision.  Then  Jack  spoke  her  name. 

"  Kate!"  he  said,  wonderingly.     "  Is  it  you?'* 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  a  look  came  upon  her  face  as  if 
she  were  awakening,  a  long  low  cry  broke  from  her  parted 
lips,  her  eyes  closed  for  a  moment,  then  opened  upon  him  at 
first  with  infinite  tenderness  and  then  with  a  look  of  fear  and 
apprehension  which  completely  transformed  her  face. 

"  You!  You — at  last,  at  last!"  she  breathed;  and  she 
dropped  back  against  the  rail  of  the  bridge  and  grasped  it 
with  one  hand  while  the  other  was  pressed  to  her  heart. 

"  Yes,  it's  I,"  said  Jack.  "  This  is  a  strange  meeting! 
How  do  you  come  here?  Why  are  you  here — alone — you  are 
alone,  are  vou  not?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

She  was  trembling  now,  and  the  hand  with  which  she  tried 
to  draw  the  shawl  round  her  head  shook  like  a  leaf;  but  her 
eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  him  steadily,  eyes  that  seemed  to 
burn,  in  their  agony  of  anxiety  and  apprehension,  from  the 
haggard  pallor  of  her  face. 

Jack  saw  that  she  was  very  ill, that  she  was  scarcely  able  to 
speak,  either  from  weakness  or  agitation. 

"  Take  my  arm,  Kate,"  he  said;  for  the  "  Miss  Transom  " 
seemed  too  formal  and  inappropriate  at  such  a  moment. 
'''  Let  me  help  you.  You  are  ill,  I  am  afraid.*' 

She  shook  her  head. 

**  I  can  walk,"  she  said. 

She  moved  forward,  and  mechanically  he  moved  with  her. 

"  When  are  you  going? v  he  asked.    "  Iff  it  far  from  Jiete? 


LOVE,   THE  TYRANT.  251 

Are  yon  staying  with  friends?  If  it's  far  I  don't  think  you 
ought  to  walk,  and  we  will  take  a  cab." 

She  looked  at  him  dreamily  and  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"  I  have  no  friends;  I  am  not  staying  anywhere,"  she  said. 
*'  I  have  nowhere  to  go.'* 

The  answer  was  given  quite  gravely  and  simply,  and  to  say 
that  Jack  was  at  first  struck  dumb  by  amazement  and  horror 
only  faintly  describes  the  effect  upon  him. 

"  No  friends!    Nowhere  to  go."  he  exclaimed.     "  Surely 

;ou  must  be  mistaken,  Kate!  Where  are  you  staying  in  Lon- 
on — what  lodging — " 

She  shook  her  head  again,  and  her  eyes  drew  slowly  from 
his  face,  as  if  reluctant  to  leave  it,  and  gazed  straight  before 
her. 

"  I  am  not  staying  at  any  place;  I  have  no  frienAn,"  she 
said;  and  she  spoke  the  words  in  a  low  monotone  not  of  des- 
pair nor  even  of  complaint,  but  a  monotone  which  had  some- 
thing of  restfulness  and  peace  and  contentness. 

Jack  took  her  arm  and  pressed  it  gently,  for  it  seemed  to 
him  as  she  were  only  half  awake  or  in  a  kind  of  stupor. 

"  See  here,  Kate,"  he  said,  "  try  and  explain.  1  find  you 
here,  on  a  London  bridge,  late  at  night,  and  yon  say  that  you 
are  alone  and  that  you've  no  place  to  go  to.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  my  eyes  or  my  ears.  I  left  you  at  Vancourt  comfort- 
able and  happy — " 

She  turned  her  white  face  upon  him,  and,  with  a  strange 
smile,  echoed  the  last  word. 

"  Happy — not  happy!  ah,  not  happy!" 

Jack  drew  her  arm  completely  within  his. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  ne  said,  geatly,  soothingly. 
"  When  did  you  come  up?" 

**  Nearly  a  week  ago,"  she  said.  "  I  can  scarcely  remem- 
ber— I  do  not  know.  The  days  have  passed — "  She  shud- 
dered. "  But  it  doesn't  matter  now." 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  a  faint  smile  crept  over  her 
face,  making  it  weirdly  beautiful. 

"  And  why  did  you  come  up?"  asked  Jack.  "  Why  did 
you  leave  Vancourt?" 

"  I  came  because — "  she  began,  dreamily;  then  she  stopped 
with  a  slight  flush. 

"  And  where  have  you  been — what  have  you  been  doing — 
since  you  came  up?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  in  the  same  low  voice.  "  I 
could  not  tell  you.  I  have  been  walking  about  all  the  time, 
through  the  big  streets  and  the  quiet  ones,  resting  at  night  IB 


252  IrfOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

a  door-way  01  on  the  seats  by  the  river — I  slept  there  law 
night — a  woman  gave  me  some  food — it  was  a  piece  of  bread 
—she  shared  it  between  her  child  and  me — " 

"  Good  God!"  exclaimed  Jack.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you've  been  wandering  about  London  for  days  and 
nights,  with  nowhere  to  sleep,  nothing  to  eat?" 

She  listened,  with  the  same  smile  on  her  face,  as  if  his 
words,  his  voice,  were  bestowing  upon  her  a  consolation  which 
effaced  all  the  memory  of  those  awful  days  and  nights,  and 
chilled  her  present  pain  and  sense  of  weakness. 

"  I  had  a  little  money  at  first,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly; 
"  but  I  soun  spent  it;  and  I  didn't  know  where  to  go,  so  I 
just  slept  where  I  saw  the  other  poor  people  sleeping." 

"  But  I  don't  understand!"  exclaimed  Jack.  "  Hav*?  you 
quarrelled  with  your  father,  has  anything  happened  to  cause 
you  to  come  up  to  London  like  this,  in  this  helpless,  solitary 
fashion?  At  any  rate,  whatever  is  the  matter,  you  must  go 
back  to  your  father,  to  Vancourt,  at  once!" 

She  stopped  and  her  lips  moved  as  if  she  were  repeating  his 
words,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  master  their  meaning.  Then 
snddenly  she  turned  to  him  and  grasped  hfs  arm,  her  large 
eyes  dilating  with  fear,  her  pale  lips  trembling. 

"  No,  no!"  she  panted,  I  cannot,  I  will  not!  I  dare  not! 
I  left  because  they  might  ask  me  questions,  might  get  ihe 
truth  out  of  me,  might  ask  me  why — why  you  had  left  Van- 
court!" 

Jack  stared  at  her,  then  he  changed  colour  and  bit  his  lip. 

*•>  You — you  know  why  I  left  Vancourt?"  he  said,  with  a 
frown. 

She  glanced  round  cautiously  as  if  she  were  afraid  they 
should  be  overheard. 

"  Yes.  Hush!"  she  replied,  and  her  grasp  tightened  on 
his  arm,  her  eyes  flooded  his  face  with  infinite  tenderness  \vith 
the  protective  expression  of  the  woman.  "  Yes,  I  know!" 
Her  eyes  wandered,  her  lips  parted,  the  dreamy  expression 
settled  on  her  face.  "  I  shall  find  him,"  she  murmured. 
"  London  is  a  large  place,  but  I  shall  find  him!" 

She  took  her  hand  from  Jack's  arm,  and,  with  a  sigh,  drew 
her  shawl  about  her  head,  and  seemed  about  to  move  away  as 
if  she  had  forgotten  him;  then  snddenly  she  swayed  to  and 
fro  and  would  nave  fallen  if  Jack  had  not  been  near  enough  tc 
catch  her. 

They  had  turned  down  a  side  street,  one  of  the  quiet  streets 
of  Lambeth,  and  they  were  alone.  She  lay  in  a  dead  faint  in 
Jack's  arms,  and  as  he  held  her  he  wondered  wittt  on  eartfc 


t*VE,  THE  TYRANT.  253 

ne  should  do:  call  a  policeman,  get  her  into  a  cab,  take  her 
— where? 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

As  Jack,  holding  Kate  in  his  arms,  was  wondering  what  on 
earth  he  should  do,  by  the  merest  chance  a  ricketty  four* 
wheeler  came  trundling  down  the  street.  Jack  hailed  it  as  a 
shipwrecked  mariner  might  hail  a  passing  veseel,  and  lifting 
Kate  into  it,  told  the  man  to  drive  to  Chase  Street. 

For*sometime  Kate  remained  unconscious,  but  the  current 
of  air  through  the  open  window  at  last  revived  her.  She 
opened  her  eyes  and  sighed  heavily;  then  she  looked  at  Jack 
at  first  wonderingly,  and  then  with  an  expression  of  relief  and 
peace  and  contentment  which  touched  him  not  a  little. 

"  Are  you  better?"  he  asked,  raising  his  voice  above  the 
rattle  of  the  shaky  cab. 

She  smiled  upon  him  dreamily  and  her  lips  formed  a  "  Yes." 

"  That's  all  right!"  said  Jack,  cheerfully.  "  Better  not 
talk  now." 

She  obeyed  his  injunction  for  some  time,  but  presently  she 
managed  to  make  herself  heard  with  the  question: 

"  Where  are  we  going — where  are  you  taking  me?" 

Jack  was  posed  and  did  not  answer  for  a  moment  or  two, 
Were  on  earth  was  he  to  take  her?  He  knew  Mordy  Jane  too 
well  to  imagine  that  he  could  take  a  young  and  beautiful  fe- 
male to  the  Jacobs'  without  a  scene  from  Mordy  Jane  and  a 
demand  for  an  explanation,  which  he  was  not  prepared  to  give. 
He  might  take  her  to  a  hospital  or  to  a  work-house,  but  the 
idea  was  repulsive  to  him;  and  besides,  she  was  scarcely  ili 
enough  for  a  hospital,  and  she  would  feel  degraded  all  her 
life  by  an  acquaintance  with  a  work-house. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  he  said  at  last;  "  but  I'll  find  some 
place  for  you,  and  don't  you  be  afraid.  Of  course,  I  must 
let  your  father  know  in  the  morning  that  I  have  found  you; 
you  must  go  back  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  make  the 
journey." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  strange  look,  as  if  she  wen  pnz- 
eled  and  surprised  at  the  calmness  with  which  he  made  the 
statement. 

"  Oh,  no!  you  know  I  can  never  go  back,'*  she  said,  her 
lips  necessarily  close  to  his  ear.  "  You  must  not  let  them 
know.  I  would  rather  die  than  that  they  should  know  I  was 
with  you.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  send  word,  or  stop 
the  cabk  and  let  me  get  out  and  go!" 


254  LOVE,   THE  TYRANT. 

Jack  was  puzzled  and  mystified,  but  he  could,  not  withhold 
the  required  promise. 

"  All  right;  don't  you  worry!"  he  said.  "  I  won't  let 
them  know  until  you  give  me  leave. " 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  lay  back  in  her  corner  of 
the  cab  with  her  eyes  closed.  The  man  pulled  up  at  the  top 
of  Chase  Street,  and  Jack,  though  he  had  come  to  the  con- 
viction that  he  should  have  to  appeal  to  Mordy  Jane,  after  all, 
felt  that  it  would  never  to  do  to  drive  up  to  the  house  in  a 
cab. 

"  Can  you  walk  a  little  way?"  he  asked.  "  It  is  not  very 
far,  and  of  course  I'll  help  you." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  assent,  and  Jack  paid  the  man  and 
helped  her  out  of  the  cab,  and,  supported  by  his  arm,  she 
walked  a  few  paces;  but  even  these  few  paces  taxed  her 
strength  too  greatly,  and  presently  she  looked  at  Jack  pite- 
ously  and  collapsed.  As  before,  there  happened  to  be  no  one 
in  the  street  at  the  moment,  and  Jack  was  about  to  pick  her 
up  bodily  and  carry  her  to  the  house,  when  a  woman  came 
round  the  corner,  walking  quickly.  She  was  dressed  in  black 
and  wore  a  veil  on  her  widow's  bonnet.  Jack,  having  a  faint- 
ing woman  on  his  arm,  man-like,  was  quick  to  appeal  to  one 
of  her  sex  for  aid. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  as  the  woman  came  abreast 
of  him,  "  this  lady  is  ill;  would  you  mind — ?" 

Then  he  stopped  dead  short,  struck  dumb  by  the  fact  that 
the  woman  was  the  widow  whom  he  had  twice  seen  working 
the  stolen-purse  dodge. 

She  paused  in  her  hurried  walk  and  looked  at  him,  anil 
then  at  Kate,  and  seemed  to  hesitate;  but  at  that  moment  a 
policeman  came  to  the  comer,  and  she  sped  away  quickly  and 
disappeared  down  Piper's  Sack. 

Jack  swore  under  his  breath  and  again  gathered  Kate  in  his 
arms  with  the  intention  of  carrying  her  bodily;  but  she  re- 
covered consciousness  and  stood,  supported  by  his  arm,  strug- 
gling for  breath. 

"  It  is  not  very  far  now,"  said  Jack,  encouragingly;  "  wait 
until  you  are  quite  able  to  walk." 

A  minute  or  two  passed,  and  then  they  moved  slowly  down 
the  street;  they  reached  the  door,  and  Jack  was  feeling  for 
the  key  when  he  heard  a  light  step  behind  him,  and  Miss 
Woods  cams  up.  Jack  turned  upon  her  eagerly,  struck  by 
jr.  sudden  idea. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Woods,"  he  said,    "  I  am  awfollf 


,  THE  TTRA29T.  255 

dad  to  meet  yon  to-night,  and  just  at  this  moment,  for  my 

friend  and  I  are  in  a  little  trouble." 

There  was  a  flash  on  Miss  Woods'  faded  face,  and  her  eyes 
looked  anxiously  and  half  suspiciously  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  asked,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath 
and  a  glance  over  her  shoulder. 

Jack  began,  feeling  that  the  woman  would  not  believe  a 
word  he  said: 

"  This  young  lady  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  met  her  by 
chance  to-night.  She  has  come  up  to  London  from  the  coun- 
try, and  has  lost  her  way.  She  is  ill — she  fainted  not  very 
long  ago — she  has  no  friends  in  London,  excepting  myself, 
and  no  place  to  go." 

The  woman  with  the  faded  face  and  the  canary-coloured 
hair  looked  with  a  kind  of  tired  sharpness  at  Kate — who  leant 
against  the  door  frame,  her  face  downcast,  her  hands  hanging 
teoselv — and  then  nodded,  as  if  she  were  satisfied. 

"  Miss  Jacob  hasn't  a  vacant  room,"  she  said. 

'*  Quite  so,"  assented  Jack,  significantly,  and  locked  at  her 
with  an  expression  in  his  eyes  which  few  women  could  resist. 
"  I  thought  perhaps  " — he  hesitated — "  you  might  be  so  very 
good  as  to  let  her  share  your  room  to-night." 

Kate  Transom  shrank,  but  he  put  out  his  hand  touched  hers 
encouragingly. 

"  We  only  ask  shelter  for  to-night,  and  I  shall  feel  im- 
mensely relieved  to  place  her  in  the  charge  of  some  good 
woman  like  yourself." 

Miss  Woods  flushed  and  her  eyes  were  cast  down  for  a  mo- 
ment; then  she  looked  at  Jack  with  a  kind  of  timid  steadiness. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "  You'd  like  me  to 
take  her  in  to-night  as  my  friend — " 

Jack  nodded  quickly;  and  she  returned  his  nod  by  way  of 
acquiescence. 

"  I  am  more  than  grateful  to  you,"  said  Jack,  as  he  opened 
the  door,  and  still  helping  Kate,  followed  Miss  Woods  up  the 
stairs. 

When  she  reached  her  bedroom  door  she  said,  with  her 
flickering  and  weak  smile: 

"  Excuse  me  one  moment;"  and  entering  the  room,  closed 
the  door  after  her. 

Jack  heard  the  sound  as  of  a  drawer  being  unlocked  and 
opened,  closed  and  relocked  again,  and  in  a  moment  or  two 
Miss  Woods  reappeared  and  drew  Kate  into  the  room. 

"  I'll  get  a  little  brandy."  said  Jack;  "  she  needs  it." 

Ho  got  some  brandy  and  some  milk  and  biscuits  from  the 


256  W5TT,  THT  TYRASfc 

public-house  at  the  corner,  and,  returning  to  the  home, 
knocked  gently  at  Miss  Woods's  door.  She  opened  it  a  little 
way  and  smiled  at  him  reassuringly. 

"  She's  faint  with  hunger,  poor  girl!"  she  said;  "  she'll  be 
better  when  she's  had  some  food." 

"  Give  her  some  milk  with  some  brandy  in  it,"  said  Jack. 
"  And  then  you  might  venture  on  a  little  biscuit  soaked  in 
the  milk." 

"  Yes,  1  know,"  responded  Miss  "Woods,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
with  a  glance  over  her  shoulder.  "  It's  not  the  first  case  I've 
seen,"  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  which  seemed 
strangely  incongruous  with  her  rouged  face  and  canary  hair. 

"I'll  sit  on  the  staircase  outside  my  bedroom  door  and  see 
how  she  gets  on:  I  should  like  to  know  how  she  is  before  I  go 
to  bed." 

He  smoked  and  pondered  nearly  half  an  hour,  wondering 
what  had  happened  to  cause  Kate's  flight  from  home,  and 
what  he  ought  to  do  in  the  matter.  He  felt  that  he  had  been 
very  foolish  to  give  her  his  promise  not  to  communicate  with 
her  father;  but  he  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
no  doubt  she  would  tell  him  in  the  morning  what  was  the 
matter,  and  permit  him  to  send  word  of  her  whereabouts  to 
Vancourt.  Presently  Miss  Woods's  door  opened,  and  she  came 
on  to  the  landing  to  meet  him. 

"  She  has  taken  the  brandy  and  milk,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
can't  get  her  to  touch  the  biscuit.  I'm  afraid  she's  ill  and 
going  to  be  worse.  Looks  to  me  like  brain  fever.  I  had  a 
sister  once — "  She  stopped  suddenly,  and  looked  sideways 
with  Cockney  sharpness  and  suspicion  at  Jack. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,"  said  Jack,  gravely.  "  If  so, 
if  she's  going  to  be  ill,  I  hope  you'll  stand  her  friend — she 
hasn't  any  other  in  London  except  myself." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  with  covert  scrutiny,,  and  then 
lowered  her  eyes  with  the  flicker  of  a  smile. 

"  Only  a  friend?"  she  asked. 

"  Only  a  friend,"  repeated  Jack,  with  grave  emphasis, 
"  but  one  who  is  anxious  to  do  all  he  can  for  her.  Perhaps 
I  ought  to  tell  you,  Miss  Woods,  that  her  name  is  Kate  Tran- 
som, that  her  father — that  she — are  perfectly  respectable— 
But  there!  yon  are  a  woman  of  the  world  and  need  no  such 
assurance  from  me.  She  has  run  away  from  her  homo  in  the 
country,  for  some  reason  or  other  which  I  don't  know,  and 
can't  guess — " 

"  Can't  you?"  said  the  woman,  glancing  at  him  sideways. 

"  Ko."  said  Jack,.    "  Perhaps  she  has  quarrelled  with  her 


LJVE,  THE  TYRAKT.  257 

rather— sac  deemed  unhappy — "  He  stopped;  ae  had  HJ 
right  to  speak  of  Kate  Transom's  affairs.  *^If  you  will  help 
to  take  charge  of  her  until  she  can  return  to  her  friends,  Miss 
Woods,  I  shall  be  extremely  grateful." 

She  nodded. 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  with  a  sharp  glance  of  comprehension. 
"  I'll  tell  the  Jacobs  that  she  belongs  to  me.  I'll  say  that 
she  is  my  cousin,  and  that  she's  staying  with  me  on  a  visit, 
llordy  Jane  may  believe  it  or  she  may  not," 

"  I  should  say,  from  what  I  know  of  her,  that  die  certainly 
Will  not,"  remarked  Jack,  with  a  grim  smile. 

He  thought  for  a  moment  or  two,  then  he  added: 

"  I  think  we'd  better  follow  the  advice  of  the  American 
numorist,  who  said:  *  When  in  doubt,  always  tell  tha  truth.' 
I'll  try  and  break  it  gently  to  Mordy  Jane." 

Both  he  and  the  woman  spoke  of  the  child  as  if  she  were  a 
woman  and  one  to  be  conciliated  at  all  costs. 

As  he  went  down  next  morning,  Miss  Woods  opened  her 
door  slightly. 

"  She  is  very  bad,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper;  "  quite  uncon- 
scious; you'd  better  get  a  doctor." 

Jack  nodded  ani  went  down  to  the  mixture  of  shop  and 
parlour  where  he  found  Mordy  Jane  sweeping  and  tidying  up. 
As  she  still  wore  the  ridiculous  bonnet,  Jack  felt  assured 
that  she  mast  sleep  in  it.  She  pushed  it  aside  to  look  at  him 
sharply  as  he  stood,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  rather  sheep- 
ishly and  nervously  in  the  door-way. 

'You'll  be  late,  if  yuu  don't  look  out!"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right!"  said  Jack.  "  Mordy  Jane,  I  met  a 
friend  of  mine — " 

Her"  eyes  glittered  and  she  nodded  at  him. 

"  I  know!  I  saw  you  come  in  last  night.  I  'eard  yer  over 
the  bannisters.  It's  luckv  for  you  and  'er  that  you  didn't  go 
and  try  and  deceive  me,  'cos  I  wouldn't  hae  stood  it.  It's 
like  the  'idden  myst'ry's  cheek,  offering  to  pass  off  a  perfect 
stranger  as  'er  cousing.  The  hidea!  As  if  I  shouldn't  hae 
seed  through  it!  As  for  you,  why  you  wouldn't  take  in  an 
hinfant  in  arms,  leave  alone  a  gal  like  me." 

"  Well,  we  meant  it  for  the  best,  Mordy  Jane,"  said  Jack, 
meekly.  "  The  poor  girl's  very  ill — I  knew  her  in  the  coun- 
try in  which  I  was  staying — and  I  am  very  anxious  about  her. 
You'll  do  what  you  can  for  her,  won't  you,  Mordy  Jane?" 

Mordy  Jane  sniffed  but  gave  a  little  nod  of  asaent  which 
Jack  knew  meant  more  than  words. 


258  tOVE,  THE  TYRAOTi 

"  Pll  send  in  a  doctor  as  I  go  down  to  the  docks. 
is  the  best  man?" 

"  Well,  there's  Doctor  Jones,  though  I  don't  fancy  him. 
E  pokes  'is  'ead  in  at  the  door  and  says:  '  Well,  'otv  are  we 
.o-day?'  as  if  he  was  ill  hisself,  which  I  call  aggravating,  and 
makes  me  right  down  bad.  Then  there's  Doctor  Green; 
Vs  short  and  grumpy;  and  Vll  abuse  you  like  a  coster,  but 
he  cures  you  all  the  time.  'E  tried  it  on  me,  but  I  give  it 
him  back;  and  he  says  to  me:  *  If  I  was  to  do  my  dooty  by 
m,r  perfession  I  should  give  you  something  strong  and  put 
you  in  a  bottle  of  spirits,  you  freak!'  I  says  to  him:  '  You 
wouldn't  'ave  no  difficulty  finding  the  spirits!'  'cos,  yer  see, 
he  does  a  bit  of  drinking — but  never  when  he's  at  work. 
You'd  better  go  to  him." 

Jack  left  word  at  Doctor  Green's,  and  just  got  to  the  docks 
before  the  gates  closed.  All  that  day,  while  he  worked  he 
pondered  over  Kate  Transom's  presence  in  London.  She  had 
left  Vancourt  after  he  had  done  so — he  did  not  know  how 
soon — but  he  longed  to  ask  her  for  some  news  of  Esther; 
though  he  told  himself  that  the  less  he  heard  of  the  woman 
he  loved  the  better  for  his  peace  of  mind. 

When  he  got  home  in  the  evening,  Mordy  Jane  with  her 
head  on  one  side  and  her  eye  cocked  like  a  magpie's  gave  a 
Very  serious  report  of  Kate's  condition. 

"  She's  been  dee-lirious  and  off  her  nut  all  day,"  she  said, 
"  The  'idden  myst'ry  let  me  in  when  1  went  to  enquire,  and 
I  seed  her.  That  carroty  'ead  of  'ers  looks  queer  'gainst  }ei 
white  face.  I  suppose  you  think  it's  beautiful?' 

"  Yes,  she  has  beautiful  hair,"  assented  Jack,  absently> 
^nd  unconscious  of  the  sarcasm  in  Mordy  Jane's  voice. 
•'  Delirious,  is  she?  I  am  afraid  she  is  very  bad." 

"  Yes;  she  'as  been  raving  like  a  lunatic,  Miss  Woods 
says,"  responded  Mordy  Jane,  as  she  pushed  her  father  into  a 
low  chair  in  front  of  the  table,  and  took  his  skull-cap  off  af 
if  he  were  a  child  or  a  Guy  Fawkes.  "  She  tosses  from  side 
to  side,  and  talks  about  you  and  other  rubbish." 

"  About  me?"  said  Jack,  with  surprise,  too  anxious  to 
smile. 

"  Yes,  about  you,  and  about  a  *  Miss  Vuncourt '  and  3 
murder." 

Here  Mordy  Jane  nodded,  and  suspended  a  plate  of  boiled 
mutton,  which  she  considered  an  appropriate  dish  for  a  hot 
summer's  evening,  on  the  way  to  Jack's  place. 

"  Murder — a  *orrible  murder  1  I  suppose  it's  all  he! 
fancy." 


WV3,  THE  T7&AJT&  259 

"  Of  oorafle,"  said  Jack.     "  Poor  girl!  I  am  afraid  she  hat 

quarreled  with  her  father,  and  that  she  must  have  suffered 
terribly  while  she  was  wandering  here  in  London." 

"  P'r'aps  it's  remorse,"  said  Mordy  Jane.     *  PVaps  she's 

?>ne  and  murdered  'er  father,  and  'id  'im  in  the  copper, 
ou  do  read  of  sich  things,  you  know." 

Jack  smiled  and  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  I  wish  I  could  send  for  her  father,"  he  said,  half  to  him* 
self.  "  But  I  can't  break  my  promise,  and  I  might  make 
things  worse.  Poor  Kate!" 

"  Miss  Woods  keeps  up  her  character,"  remarked  Mordy 
Jane,  at  a  later  stage  of  the  meal. 

"  As  how?"  asked  Jack,  absently. 

"  Well,  I  orfered  to  go  an*  nurse  that  rcd-'eaded  gal  while 
Miss  Woods  went  out  as  usual  this  evening;  but  she  said  as 
*ow  she  wasn't  goin'.  So  it's  certain  as  'ow  she  ain't  a  music- 
hall  arteeste.  And  the  question  is:  wot  is  she?  Father, 
you've  gone  and  let  that  mutton-fat  get  cold  and  turn  to 
candle.  If  you  don't  want  any  more,  push  yer  plate  away  like 
a  proper-minded  person,  and  'ave  yer  puddin'.  '  I  shall  re* 
main  at  'ome  this  evenin',  Miss  Jacob,'  she  says,  quite  cool 
like.  The  myst'ry's  more  'iddener  than  ever.  You  mark 
my  words,  Mr.  Gordon — Sophie  Maria!" — she  broke  off  with 
a  shrill  scream — "  you're  looking  through  that  keyhole  again 
to  see  what  we've  got  for  supper!  Don't  give  me  the  lie  now, 
for  I  can  see  the  top  of  yer  'air  over  the  door!  You  go  'ome 
and  tell  yer  mother  that  we've  got  b'iled  mutton,  'taters  and 
turnips — an1  turnips,  mind!" 

CHAPTEE  XXXII. 

KATE  TBANSOM  was  down  with  brain  fever,  and  had  got  it 
badly.  For  close  upon  a  week  she  was  not  only  unconscious, 
but  delirious;  and  whenever  he  went  up  and  down-stairs  and 
paused  at  the  bedroom  door,  Jack  could  hear  her  voice  pour- 
ing out  an  incohereL^string  of  words. 

"  It's  wonderful  'ow  she  can  keep  on  at  it,"  Mordy  Jane 
remarked.  "  I've  heard  Sophie  Maria's  js^V*^ — that's  the 
Woman  what  come  up  and  jawed  me  last  night,  Mr.  Gordon 
—I've  'card  'er  talk  for  two  hours  at  a  stretch;  but  then 
ehe'd  had  a  drop,  an'  'ad  been  practising  it  ever  since  she  had 
been  a  kid.  Myl  how  she  can  sling  it!  But  this  young-girl- 
from-the-country  friend  of  yours,  she  could  give  Sophie 
Maria's  mother  fifty  yards  in  a  hundred  and  romp  in  easy.  1 
sat  beside  the  bed  last  night,  an'  I  tell  you  some  ot  'er  talk 


260  JOTS,  THE 

tnade  my  'air  curL  It  was  all  about  woods  an9  gftmS;  an' 
'ands  covered  with  blood— oh,  my!"  Mordy  Jane  indulged 
31  a  shudder  which  nearly  shook  the  bonnet  off  her  head.  "  I 
Bays  to  Miss  Woods,  I  sez:  '  If  I  was  to  sit  'ere  long  listening 
to  this,  I  should  get  the  creeps  or  the  highsterics.'  They've 
cut  off  nearly  all  her  hair — which  I  dessay  you'll  think  a 
dreffol  shame — an*  she  looks  all  wild  and  strange-like;  an* 
she  keeps  on  mixing  up  your  name,  an'  talks  as  if  she  was 
trying  to  find  you,  as  if  you  was  in  some  danger.  Oh,  it's 
horful  to  'ear  her!  I  suppose  there  ain't  any  truth  in  it? 
There's  nothing  in  all  this  talk  of  hers  about  a  murder?" 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  he  answered.  "  She  may  be  raving  in 
her  delirium  of  something  she  has  read  or  heard.  She  came 
from  a  most  quiet  and  peaceful  place,  in  which  no  tragedies 
or  anything  of  the  kind  have  happened.  There  is  never  any 
accounting  for  the  language  and  behaviour  of  persons  who 
are  delirious,  Mordy  Jane;  there  is  not  the  least  foundation 
for  poor  Kate  Transom's  visionary  terror  and  dread.  In  all 
probability,  in  fact,  most  certainly,  when  she  gets  well — be- 
comes conscious — she  will  forget  everything,  know  nothing, 
indeed,  of  anything  she  has  said  while  she  was  in  this  condi- 
tion." 

Somewhat  to  Jack's  surprise,  Miss  Woods  proved  herself 
not  only  an  efficient,  but  a  sympathetic  nurse.  Indeed,  after 
the  first  few  days,  he  could  not  help  noticing  a  change  in  her, 
Kate's  helplessness  and  curious  illness  had  not  only  awakened 
the  sympathies  of  the  "  'idden  myst'ry,"  but  had  called  forth 
some  latent  strength  with  which  Jack  had  not  credited  her. 
The  flickering  smile,  half  vain  and  half  suspicious,  gradually 
disappeared,  and  a  look  of  anxiety  that  was  perfectly  unself- 
ish took  its  place. 

Eyery  evening  she  came  out  of  the  room  to  tell  him  how 
Kate  was  going  on,  and  each  evening  Jack,  half  ^ucoii- 
sciously,  noticed  the  progress  of  the  change  in  his  fellow 
lodger.  She  had  scarcely  left  Kate,  had  nursed  her  with  at 
attention  and  devotion  which  had  called  forth  the  approval 
and  commendation  of  even  the  doctor,  who,  like  most  men  of 
his  profeL?oon,  are  sparing  of  their  praise. 

Jack  l:^u  told  her,  as  delicately  as  possible,  that  he  would 
be  responsible  for  the  expenses;  but  at  first,  colouring  con- 
fused I v.  the  woman  had  said  that  she  didn't  wish  him  to  pay 
for  an  -hing;  but  Jack  had  smilingly  insisted;  and  as  he 
spent  very  little  on  himself  tLo  additional  burden  did  not 
crush  him. 


THE  TYRANT:  261 

On  xoe  evening  of  the  eighth  day  Mordy  Jane  informed 
him  that  Kate  had  recovered  consciousness,  and  taken  a  torn 
for  the  better,  somewhat  to  the  doctor's  surprise,  and  that 
having  slept  for  several  hours,  she  was  now  awake  and  "  in 
her  seven  senses,"  as  Mordy  Jane  put  it,  and  likely  to  re- 
cover. As  Jack  went  upstairs  the  door  of  the  sick-room 
opened,  and  Miss  Woods  came  out. 

"  She  is  much  better,"  she  said;  "  she  is  awake  now,  and 
has  been  asking  for  you.  If  you'd  like  to  see  her,  I  don't 
think  it  would  do  her  any  harm;  perhaps  she'd  worry  more 
if  she  doesn't  see  you.  But  you'll  have  to  keep  very  quiet," 
she  added,  with  a  touch  of  nursely  dignity  and  responsibility 
which  amused  and  impressed  Jack. 

He  went  in  very  softly  and  stood  beside  the  bed,  looking 
down  at  the  girl.  She  was  thinner  even  than  when  he  had 
met  her  on  the  bridge  a  week  ago,  her  cheeks  still  more  hol- 
low, but  with  the  hectic  flush  which  fever  paints  with  so  deli- 
cate a  colour  and  so  fine  a  brush.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  but 
she  was  not  asleep,  and  presently  she  opened  them  and  saw 
him.  For  a  moment  or  two  they  dwelt  upon  his  face  with  a 
dreamy  recognition,  then  a  tender  light  stole  into  them,  her 
lips  parted,  and  she  spoke  his  name  inaudibly.  Jack  knelt 
down  beside  the  bed,  so  that  he  might  speak  very  quietly. 

"  You're  getting  on  famously,  Kate,"  he  said.  "  That's 
right!  I'm  afraid  you've  had  a  bad  time — but  we  won't  think 
of  that  now,  and  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  get  well  as 
quickly  as  possible.  When  you  are  stronger  we'll  take  you 
out  into  the  air — but  there's  plenty  of  time  to  think  about 
that;  you  just  lie  hei^  and  say  to  yourself,  *  I'm  going  to  get 
better  every  day!' ' 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  die?"  she  asked. 

"  Most  certainly  and  emphatically  I  do  not!"  said  Jack; 
"  why,  just  remember  what  a  strong  girl  you  were  before — 
before  you  were  taken  ill." 

"  That  is  a  long  while  ago,  isn't  it?"  she  said  in  a  vague 
and  confused  way.  "  I  have  been  thinking  it  would  be  beotei 
if  I  were  to  die,  Mr.  Gordon:  there  would  be  less  danger," 
she  added,  almost  to  herself. 

Jack  laughed  quietly. 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense,"  he  said.  "  I  not  only  believe 
that  you  are  out  of  danger,  but  that  you  are  going  to  get  well 
verv  quickly.  Did  you  want  to  see  me  about  anything?  They 
«aid  that  you  had  asked  for  me." 

Hf  was  booing  that  she  would  say  that  she  wishad  him  fci 


262  LOVE,   THE  TYRANT. 

communicate  with  her  father;  but  she  shoos  her  neafl,  awl 
the  faint  flush  deepened  slightly  on  her  face. 

"  No,*'  she  said,  almost  inaudibly,  with  her  eyes  seeking 
his  face  for  a  moment,  and  then  covered  by  their  lids.  "I 
asked  for  you,  I  asked  if  you  were  here  because  I  was  not 
sure  that  I  had  really  seen  you — not  sure  that  it  was  not  all  a 
dream." 

Jack  smiled. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Kate,  it's  real  enough;  there's  not  much 
of  the  dream  about  me;  I'm  too  substantial.  I  am  living  here 
m  the  same  house,  my  room  is  just  above.  I  am  out  at  work 
all  day,  from  quite  early  in  the  morning,  but  I  am  at  home 
every  evening,  and  I  will  always  come  to  see  you  when  you 
want  me,  after  I  have  come  home." 

She  looked  at  him  so  gratefully,  with  so  infinite  a  wistful- 
mess  in  her  eyes,  larger  than  ever  now,  in  that  pale,  wasted 
face,  that  Jack  with  that  dangerous  tenderness  of  his  towards 
all  women,  dumb  animals,  and  weak  things  generally, 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  gently  on  her  hot  forehead. 
It  was  indeed  a  dangerous  thing  to  do  even  under  the  circum- 
stances, though  he  meant  nothing  but  pity  and  compassion 
and  the  consolation  with  which  every  strong  man's  heart 
overflows  for  a  sick  girl — or  a  dog  with  a  broken  leg. 

But  his  touch  had  a  deep  effect  upon  poor  Kate,  who  was 
weakened  by  her  illness,  following  her  terrible  mental  strain 
and  days  of  privation.  Great  tears  welled  up  to  her  eyes,  her 
lips  quivered,  then  moved  as  if  in  speech.  Jack  bent  losver  so 
that  he  might  hear  what  she  said,  and  he  caught  the  words: 

"  It  would  be  better  if  I  were  to  die." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  You  wait  a  day 
or  two,  until  you've  had  your  first  mutton  chop,  and  you'll 
find  you've  ckanged  your  mind,  Kate." 

He  went  in  to  see  her  every  evening,  and  sometimes  found 
Mordy  Jane  sitting  beside  the  bed,  and  talking  ia  her  cute 
and  precocious  fashion.  Kate,  propped  up  by  pillows,  lay 
back  and  listened,  her  great  eyes  fixed  wonderingly  on  the 
shrewd  face  of  the  child-woman;  but  Jack  found  that  unlike 
as  they  were  the  two  seemed  to  like  each  other,  and  what  wiih 
an  elfish  cuteaess  Mordy  Jane  appeared  to  understand  the 
country  girl;  for  Kate  would  talk  more  freely — if  the  word 
may  be  used  in  speaking  of  one  so  reserved — to  Mordy  Jane 
than  to  Miss  Woods. 

"  She  ain't  a  bad  sort,  that  girl-from-the-country  of 
yours,"  Mordy  Jane  admitted  to  Jack.  "  Now  I've  got  used 
to  'er  red  'air,  I'm  ari  inclined  to  think  as  she  ain't  bad  look- 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  263 

ing.  But  lor'  ain't  she  a  Juggins !  She  don't  know  nothing, 
exceptin'  about  cows  and  sheep  and  'ay  and  corn,  an'  she 
ain't  been  nowhere  'cept  this  fling  up  in  Lendon,  which  she 
says  she  'ates.  Fancy  'ating  London!  Which  I  tell  'er  it 
ain't  proper  to  slang  the  place  the  Queen  of  England  lives  in. 
We're  going  to  get  'er  out  to-morrow !" 

"The  queen?"  said  Jack,  who  had  got  into  the  habit  of 
dreaming  of  Esther  while  he  was  supposed  to  be  listening  to 
Mordy  Jane. 

"No,  stoopid.  Kate,  of  course.  If  I  was  you  I  should  go 
an'  see  a  doctor — and  a  good  'un.  For  you've  got  a  fit  of 
absence  of  brain,  which  might  end  serious.  Blest  rf  you  ain't 
nearly  as  bad  as  father,  and  he's  wus  than  a  hinfant  in  arms." 

The  next  day,  as  Mordy  Jane  had  announced,  Kate  was 
taken  out  for  the  first  time.  It  had  been  arranged  that  she 
should  go  as  far  as  Victoria  Park  in  an  open  fly,  and  that 
Jack  should  take  a  half  holiday  so  that  he  could  accompany 
them. 

"Won't  it  be  too  many  for  one  horse?"  he  suggested  to 
Mordy  Jane,  who  was  also  to  be  one  of  the  party;  but  that 
young  lady  replied  in  the  negative  with  a  sniff  ef  scorn. 

"Too  many!  Why,  I've  known  that  fly  hold  ten — yes,  I 
have,  and  Airs.  Jenkins's  'Arry  a-sitting  on  the  step.  Too 
many !  Garn !  Besides,  if  you  don't  go,  I'm  thinking  the 
outin'  won't  do  'er  much  good,"  she  added  to  herseK. 

The  fly  drew  up  at  the  door  at  the  appointed  hour,  and 
Kate  was  helped  down  the  stairs  by  the  other  two  women, 
and,  Jack  appearing  a  moment  or  two  afterwards,  already 
"cleaned  up,"  they  started;  Mordy  Jane  perched  on  the  box 
beside  the  driver,  and  surveying  the  crowdl — from  under  a 
new  hat  simply  adorned  with  blue  ostrich  feathers  and  crim- 
son poppies — with  so  haughty  and  supercilious  an  air,  that  the 
small  crowd  which  had  gathered  for  ironical  cheers  was  awed 
into  silence. 

Kate  leant  back,  her  folded  hands  lying  limply  in  her  lap, 
scarcely  glancing  at  the  street  and  the  people  they  passed; 
but  every  now  and  then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Jack's  face — 
more  often  than  not  turned  up  to  Mordy  Jane — and,  when- 
ever she  did  so,  an  expression  of  peace  passed  ever  her  white 
face,  to  be  followed  almost  instantly  by  one  of  trouble  and 
perplexity. 

Victoria  Park,  though  not  exactly  "quite  the  country,"  as 
Mordy  Jane  declared  it  to  be,  is  not  the  least  important  of 
London's  "lungs,"  and  Jack,  for  one,  was  glad  enough  to 
see  some  trees  and  green  grass  again.  He  Hfted  Kate  out  of 


264  UOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

the  fly,  and  wrapping  her  shawl  carefully  round  her,  helper 
her  to  a  seat  under  a  couple  of  oaks,  which  would  not  have 
disgraced  Vancourt  itself.    Kate  leant  back  and  looked  round 
her  with  a  sigh,  a  sigh  which  was  not  one  of  unhappiness  or 
discontent. 

"  Feeling  pretty  fit,  Kate?"  Jack  asked.  He  had  got  into 
the  habit  of  calling  her  by  her  Christian  name.  Much 
stronger  and  more  like  your  old  self?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  her  low  voice,  which  was  habitual 
now,  a  voice  which  was  always  dreamy,  and  sometimes  indi- 
cated the  condition  of  mind  which  is  described  as  vacant. 
""Xes;  I  shall  soon  be  quite  strong  now,  and — and  well 
enough  to  go." 

Jack  nodded. 

"  That's  it!"  he  said.  "  You  want  to  get  out  of  this  and 
back  to  Vancourt." 

She  started  slightly  and  looked  at  him,  as  if  she  wera 
alarmed,  and  at  the  same  time  was  trying  to  remember  the 
cause  of  her  alarm. 

"  No,  I  shall  never  go  back  to  Vancourt!"  she  said, 
breathing  quickly. 

"  Why  not?  Look  here,  Kate,  you  asked  me  to  promise 
that  I  would  not  communicate  with  you  father,  friends — " 

"  Yes.  And  you  have  not,  you  will  not?"  she  broke  )»»» 
"  It  was  a  promise!" 

"  That's  so,  and  I've  still  hung  on  to  the  habit  of  keeping 
'em,"  said  Jack,  gravely,  as  there  flashed  ".cross  his  mind  the 
promise  he  had  given  to  his  dead  chum,  and  all  the  keeping 
of  it  had  cost  him  and  must  still  cost  him.  "  I  haven't  written 
to  Vancourt,  and  I  still  can't,  of  course,  if  you  insist." 

"  Yes,  yes;  you  must  not!" 

"  All  right;  but  then  I've  got  to  ask  what  are  you  going  to 
do?  I'm  afraid  this  isn't  the  time,  but — well,  I'm  anxious 
about  you.*' 

"  And  are  you  not  anxious  about — about  yourself?"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice  and  with  a  swift  but  timid  glance  at  his 
grave,  handsome  face. 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Well,  not  much,"  he  replied.  "  I  mean  that  it  doesn't 
matter  much  what  becomes  of  me." 

*'  Ah,  don't  say  so — don't  say  so!"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
shudder.  "  It  matter  everything!  Why — why  do  you  stay 
kere  in  London — England?" 

She  put  the  question  in  almost  a  whisper  and  looked  ro«n<* 
as  if  she  were  afraid  of  being  overheard, 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOT«  265 

Jack  v^ionred. 

"  Well — I  scarcely  know!    It  is  rather  foolish,  I  suppose." 

"  Foolish!'*  she  echoed.  "  Oh,  how  can  you  speak  SO—HBO 
lightly  of  it,  when  you  know  so  much  depends." 

Jack  was  just  a  little  puzzled  by  her  earnestness. 

"  Yes;  I've  thought  of  going  abroad,  to  Australia.  I  was 
out  there,  you  know." 

She  nodded  and  unconsciously  drew  a  little  nearer  to  him. 

'*  Yes!    Why  do  you  not  go,  at  once?    Why  do  yon  wait?" 

Jac'l  tfit  his  moustache. 

"  Well,  as  I  said  before,  I  don't  quite  know."  But  he  did. 
To  put  the  seas  between  him  and  Esther — the  prosnect  was  a 
hard  and  cruel  one.  "  But  I  must  make  up  my  mind  pretty 
sharp." 

"  Decide  to  go  at  once!"  she  said. 

He  laughed. 

'*  You  appear  to  be  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me, 
Kate,"  he  said,  innocently  enough. 

The  colour  flooded  her  face,  and  she  turned  her  eyes  upon 
him  almost  reproachfully,  but  averted  them  before  he  could 
look  round  and  see  their  expression. 

"  But  before  I  go — if  I  go — I  must  see  you  comfortably  set- 
tled. If  I'm  not  to  write  to  your  father,  you  must  still  re- 
main in  my  charge,  so  to  speak." 

"  I  can  gel  a  situation;  Miss  Woods  will  help  me;  Mordy 
Jane — "  she  faltered. 

"  Well,  perhaps  they  might;  though  I've  not  the  least  no- 
tion how  Miss  Woods  gets  her  living." 

"  She  has  a  situation,"  said  Kate;  "  she  goes  to  it  every 
evening— she  went  until  I  came.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  I 
will  ask  her;  perhaps  she  might  get  something  of  the  same 
kind  for  me  to  do.  At  any  rate,  I — I  must  not  be  a  burden 
to  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Gordon.  I've  not  thanked  you  yet; 
I've  tried — oh,  so  many  times! — but  every  time  the  words 
aeem  to  rush  together,  and — and  I  cannot  speak." 

"  Don't  try  any  more,"  said  Jack.  "  I've  only  done  what 
yon  would  have  done  for  me  it  yon  found  me  in  a  tight  place; 
and,  besides,  we  are  old  friends,  Kate,  quite  old  friends,  from 
the  same  place.  Did  you  see  and  hear  anything  of  Miss  Van- 
court,  after  I  left?"  be  asked,  with  an  affectation  of  merely 
Casual  interest. 

Kate  shook  her  head. 

No.     She — she  came  and  told  me  yon  had  gone."    Sfcfc 
as  she  recalled  the  interview.    "  That  »  •!!•" 


266  MTB,  THE  TYBAIflR, 

"  A  pleasant  young  lady!"  said  Jack,  still  in  the  saint 
casual  manner. 

Kate  made  it  slight  gesture  of  assent. 

"  Yes,*'  she  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  She  has  everything, 
beauty  and  riches  and  Vanc^urt  Towers,  and  everybody  ad- 
mires her  and  pays  court  to  her.  I  suppose  she  will  marry 
Mr.  Selby  Layton — they  all  say  so." 

"  Oh,  do  they?"  said  Jack,  grimly,  his  face  suddenly  grow- 
ing dark  and  gloomy.    "  I  think  it's  about  time  we  got  bac^ 
He's  a  pleasant  sort  of  fellow,  I  believe." 

Kate's  lips  came  together. 

".I  don't  know — I  don't  like  him." 

"No?    Why  not?" 

"  I — I  don't  know.  Here  is  Miss  Woods  and  Mordy  Jane." 

"  You  come  and  see  the  ducks,  Kate,"  exclaimed  Mordy 
Jane — she  said  "  Kite."  "  There's  a  lot  of  little  'uns,  jusk 
the  very  same  as  in  the  country.  Here!  you  go  with  Miss 
Woods.  I'm  a  bit  tired  and  crocky  on  my  pins." 

When  the  other  two  had  gone,  Mordy  Jane  nodded  her 
heal  at  Jack  and  winked. 

"  Well,  'ave  you  gorn  and  done  it?"  she  asked. 

Jack  stared  at  her. 

"  Gone  and  done  it? — what,  Mordy  Jane?"  he  asked. 

She  gave  a  snort  of  impatience  and  womanly  contempt  for 
a  man's  obtuseness. 

"  Well,  you  beat  everything!"  she  exclaimed,  under  her 
breath.  **  Talk  about  father,  why,  you  could  give  him  fifty 
np!  What  do  you  think  I'm  talking  about?" 

"  Hang  me  if  I  know!"  said  Jack,  laughing  good-hu- 
mouredly. 

"  Why,  you  and  Kite!"  she  retorted,  impatiently.  "  Why 
don't  you  up  and  speak  to  her  like  a  man:  you're  big 
enough." 

"  Big  enough  not  to  make  quite  a  fool  of  myself,"  said 
Jack,  rather  grimly.  "  Look  nere,  Mordy  Jane,  you're  not 
a  bad  sort  and  I  rather  like  you,  but  you  are  talking  of  some- 
thing you  know  nothing  about,  making  guesses  that  have  no 
foundation." 

"  Oh,  garn  with  you!"  she  broke  in.  "  Why,  if  yon 
Wasn't  one  of  the  biggest  Juggins  on  earth  you'd  see  that  she's 
simply  dying —  Well,  there!  I'm  not  going  to  give  one  of 
my  own  sect  away — but  of  all  the  blind,  chuckle-headed 
young  men!  Here,  they're  coming  back.  Oh,  don't  stare  at 
me  as  if  I  was  a  a  side-show  or  a  freak,  yon  stoopid!  Gome 
oo,  here'a  the  fly,  Kite!  Are  you  tiled?  Here,  we  can  'elp 


LOTS,  THE  TtBAim  267 

her  in;  don't  yon  trouble.  And  you'd  better  sit  on  the  box," 
she  added,  contemptuously.  "  Sit  there  and  try  and  get  your 
eyes  open,"  she  added,  in  a  fiei^e  undertone. 

Jack  meekly  and  obediently  climbed  on  the  box.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  drive  home  for  him.  If  Mordy  Jane  was 
right —  Oh,  but  she  couldn't  be!  Her  Cockney  cuteness 
and  readiness  to  discover  a  romance  where  none  existed,  had 
misled  her.  But  if  it  we?e  true?  A  wave  of  bitterness  was 
passing  over  him.  Esther,  he  had  just  been  told,  would 
marry  Selby  Layton:  if  Kate  really — cared  for  him,  Jack, 
why  shouldn't  he  marry  her  and —  The  sweat  stood  out  on 
his  brow.  Marry  another  woman  while  he  was  in  love  with 
Esther!  It  was  just  simply  impossible. 

The  fly  turned  into  Chase  Street,  and  he  aroused  from  his 
gloomy  reverie  by  a  poke  from  Mordy  Jane's  sunshade:  of  the 
fashion  of  the  early  Victorian  era. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Gordon,  if  yo'ud  make  a  heffort  to  wake  your- 
lelf." 

He  looked  round  with  a  nod  and  a  rather  grave  smile,  the 
fly  stopped  at  the  door,  and,  as  the  small  crowd  of  children 
pelted  up  to  see  the  return  of  the  party,  a  hansom  cab  went 
slowly  past. 

A  hansom  cab  was  so  rare  a  vehicle  in  that  quarter  that 
Jack,  as  he  opened  the  fly  door,  looked  after  it. 

At  that  moment  it  stopped,  turned  round,  and  rather 
slowly  came  back.  Jack  was  busy  with  Kate,  and  just 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  gentleman  leaning  for  ward  over  the 
apron;  but  he  was  startled,  as  the  cab  passed  the  fly,  by  a 
sharp  and  sudden  cry  from  Miss  Woods.  She  had  sprung 
from  her  seat  and  was  standing  upright,  clutching  the  side  of 
the  fly,  and  staring  with  white  face  and  startled  eyes  after  the 
hansom. 

"  "Wotever  is  the  matter?"  demanded  Mordy  Jane.  "  Are 
you  taken  queer,  Miss  Woods?  You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a 
ghost." 

She  seemed  for  a  moment  quite  unconscious  of  their  pres- 
ence as  she  stood,  still  staring  after  the  cab,  her  bosom  heav» 
ing,  her  face  white  and  red  by  turns,,  and  then  she  sank  into 
her  seat,  and,  biting  her  lip,  forced  a  smile,  and  sighed. 

"  It — it  was  a  sudden  shock,"  she  said,  with  a  vain  attempt 
to  speak  in  a  tone  of  indifference.  "  It  was  a  kind  of  spasm. 
I  think  my  heart  must  be  wrong;  but  I'm  all  right  now." 

5<  Yer  'eart  wrong!"  Tetorted  Mordy  -Jane.  *'  Not  yer! 
It's  yer  nerves;  and  mine'll  soon  be  as  crocky  as  yours  if  yosi 
'ave  auyouory  o'  them  fits  while  I'm  near  jpn" 


368  LOVE,  THB  TYRANT. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"I  REALLY  think,  my  dear  Esther,  that  you  need  a  change. 
I  have  noticed  for  some  days  past — indeed,  for  more  than  a 
week — that  you  have  been  pale,  and  seemed  listless  and  out 
of  sorts.  Do  you  feel  ill  ?" 

The  two  ladies  were  seated  on  the  terrace  after  breakfast — 
that,  Miss  Worcester  was  seated  placidly  knitting,  but  Esther 
had  risen  from  her  seat  and  was  moving  up  and  down  so 
slowly  that  it  could  scarcely  be  called  walking;  her  hands 
hung  by  her  side,  her  head  drooped,  and  her  eyes  were  down- 
cast. She  was  pale,  not  with  her  usual  healthy  pallor,  but 
with  the  paleness  that  indicates  weakness  or  worry.  A  fine 
line  had  appeared  between  her  eyes,  and  there  was  a  delicate 
droop  to  the  beautifully  formed  lips  which,  while  it  meant 
that  happiness  had  fled,  lent  a  peculiar  charm  to  them.  All 
the  old  lightness  had  vanished,  her  girlish  laugh,  which  had 
echoed  not  loudly  but  sweetly  through  the  old  place,  had  not 
been  heard  for  some  time,  and  she  no  longer  found  amuse- 
ment in  chaffing  the  old  lady  who  loved  her,  and  was  always 
so  easy  to  shock,  so  ready  to  "rise  to  the  fly." 

"You  seem  quite  changed,  my  dear  Esther,"  continued 
Miss  Worcester,  after  she  had  counted  her  stitches.  "I  really 
dom't  think  you  are  a  bit  better  than  you  used  to  be  in  Isling- 
ton." 

She  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  low  voice,  for  Miss  Worces- 
ter in  these  days  of  their  prosperity,  was  rather  reluctant  to 
refer  to  their  poorer  days,  and  always  mentioned  them  with 
bated  breath. 

"And  in  this  beautiful  air,  with  everything  the  heart  could 
desire,  you  surely  ought  to  be  in  the  best  of  health  and 
spirits." 

Esther  laughed  mirthlessly.  The  old  life  had  been  hard 
enough  in  all  conscience;  but  if  she  had  not  experienced 
any  keen  joy  in  it,  she  had  not,  at  any  rate,  suffered  such  pain 
of  infinite  longing,  infinite  disappointment,  as  she  had  en- 
dured during  the  last  week. 

"Yes,  I  really  think  you  should  take  a  change,  my  dear. 

What  would  you  say  to — to  Cromer,  now?" 

"It   all   depends   on   what    Cromer   said   to    me,"    replied 

Esther,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  her  old  spontaneous  gaiety. 

"I  mean —    Oh,  Cromer?  I  don't  know  it,  aunt.     I  don't 


HOVE,  THE  TYSAUT,  269 

cave  where  we  go;  but — unless  you  want  a  change,  I'd  in- 
initely  rather  stay  here.  I  can't  think  why  you  should  sup- 
pose that  I  am  unwell — " 

"  My  dear  Esther,  your  appearance  is  sufficiently  indica- 
tive— " 

"  Not  of  ill  health,  but  of  the  dissatisfaction  which  cornea 
from  too  much  money,  too  many  things  to  eat  and  drink — " 

"  Eeally,  Esther,  to  hear  you  talk  one  would  think  we  were 
ancient  Romans  living  in  a  state  of  gluttony.  I  am  sure  you 
do  not  eat  enough;  I  have  not  seen  you  eat  a  sufficient  and 
proper  meal  for  some  days.  Yesterday  you  sent  your  plate 
away  each  time  almost  untouched;  and  Marie  tells  me  that 
ehe  hears  you  walking  up  and  down  in  your  room  at  night." 

"  Marie  should  mind  her  own  business,"  said  Esther,  col- 
ouring slightly. 

"  It  is  her  business,  my  dear  Esther — " 

'*  Pardon  me,  aunt;  Marie's  business  at  night  is  to  go  to 
sleep,  and  to  wait  upon  me  in  the  intervals  in  which  she  is  not 
keeping  company  with  Giles  in  the  day  time.  Aunt,  there  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  me  but  the  laziness  which  is  caused 
by  having  nothing  to  do.  I  am  like  Hamlet,  waxing  fat  and 
abort  of  breath — " 

"  Fat!  My  dear  Esther,  Marie  told  me  that  she  had  to 
take  in  some  of  your  skirts — " 

Esther  bit  her  lip  softly,  and  began  to  look  a  little  annoyed 
at  the  old  lady's  persistence,  for  she  herself  knew  that  she 
wag  thinner,  that  she  had  lost  her  appetite,  and  not  only  her 
appetite  for  food,  but  for  the  hundred  and  one  innocent  pleas- 
ures  which  had  gone  to  make  up  her  life  before — before  Jack 
Gordon  went. 

This  was  the  trouble,  and  try  as  she  would,  she  could  not 
blind  herself  to  the  fact  that  his  absence,  and  the  common  be- 
lief that  he  had  been  joined  by  Kate  Transom,  were  the  causes 
of  the  change  which  had  come  over  her.  She  fought  hard, 
but  her  heart  was  too  weak — or  too  strong — for  her,  and  only 
now  and  again  could  she  still  the  aching  longing  to  see  him  -  * 
just  to  see  him — which  filled  all  her  days  and  nights. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  we'll  go  to  Oromer,  or  anywhere  else 
just  yet,  aunt,"  she  said,  telling  herself  that  she  would  not 
run  away  like  a  love-sick  girl,  that  she  would  go  on  in  the 
usual  tenor  of  her  life  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  "  I  don't 
care  about  going  just  now,  and,  besides,  I  want  to  see  the 
corn  harvest  got  in.  I  am  now  going  down  to  Martin  to 
ppeak  to  him  about  it.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  lor  you  ia 
the  vi 


270  LOVE,  TBE  TYBAOT. 

"  Ho,  cnank  you,  my  dear — oh,  yes;  if  you  would  not  mind 
calling  at  the  shop  and  getting  me  a  piece  of  tape,  this  width." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Esther  suppressing  a  smile,  which  rose 
at  the  force  of  habit,  for  in  the  old  days  of  poverty  and  strug- 
gle, it  was  generally  a  piece  of  tape  which  her  aunt  required, 
and  Esther  used  to  wonder,  as  sne  wondered  this  morning, 
what  on  earth  she  wanted  it  for. 

She  went  into  the  hall  for  her  hat,  and  crossing  the  lawn 
went  to  the  stable-yard  and  opening  one  of  the  stable  doors, 
called  "  Bob!" 

He  was  chained  up  in  the  empty  stall,  and  was  lying  asleep, 
but  as  he  heard  her  voice  he  raised  his  head  quickly,  looked 
at  her  with  his  great  solemn  eyes,  then  beyond  her  as  if  he 
expected  to  see  someone  else.  But  as  he  saw  that  she  was 
alone  he  dropped  his  head  and  drew  a  long  breath.  Esther 
knelt  beside  him  and  took  his  head  in  her  hands  and  kissed 
him  on  his  long  nose. 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  for  a  walk  with  me,  Bob?"  she 
whispered.  "  Will  it  cheer  you  up  a  little?  Why  can't  yon 
forget  like  some  other  dogs,  and  eat  and  stuff  and  sleep  and 
be  merry  like  Rags  and  Fanny  and  the  rest.  Whv  are  you— 
and  I — cursed  with  such  inconvenient  memories,  Bob?  Neve* 
mind!  Come  with  me,  and  we'll  both  try  and  forget  him  for 
a  little  while." 

She  loosed  him,  but  Bob  did  not  jump  up  and  rave  and 
bark  as  the  other  dogs  would  have  done,  but  stretched  him- 
self and  walked  beside  her  with  a  slow  and  stately  trot,  and  a 
grave  and  thoughtful  expression  in  his  eyes  which  he  turned 
up  to  her  every  now  and  then  as  if  he  were  asking:  "  Are  \ou 
going  to  take  me  to  him?"  All  the  wav  to  the  farm  he 
glanced  from  right  to  left  as  if  he  expected  to  see  his  beloved 
master,  and  he  ran  up  to  Nettie  who  was  standing  at  the  door 
of  the  lodge  and  who  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
hugged  him,  burying  her  face  in  the  soft  thick  ruff  of  fur 
round  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  good-morning,  Mrs.  Martin,"  said  Esther.  "  Nettie, 
do  you  think  you  could  spare  one  kiss  from  Bob  for  me?  I'm 
not  usually  moved  to  jealousy,  but  really — " 

"  You  see,  't's  Jack's  dog:  poor  Bob!"  said  "Nettie,  sim- 
ply, as  she  held  up  her  face  to  meet  the  swee^  -ips  which 
Jack  had  so  wickedly  kissed.  "  How  thin  he  has  dot,  hasn't 
he,  Miss  Vancourt?  And  so  have  'oo.  Are  you  fretting  after 
Jack?  You'd  bettern't,  or  you'll  be  ill!  Mother  said  that  if 
I  went  oo  fcntting  I  should  be,  didn't  you,  mother?" 


,  THE  TYBANT.  271 


Swcner  managed  to  keep  the  colour  from  her  iboe  and  the 

even  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  Fretting  is  bad  for  anybody,  Nettie,"  she  said.  "  I  came 
to  ask,  Mrs.  Martin,  if  the  harvest  was  going  to  begin  soon; 
because  Miss  Worcester  and  I  think  of  going  away,  and  I  do 
not  want  to  do  so  until  it  is  over." 

"  Martin  was  speaking  about  it  this  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin,  f'6  and  I  think  he  means  to  cut  next  week.  He's  just 
gone  up  to  the  cottage.  The  new  foreman's  wife  was  over  to 
look  at  it  yesterday,  and  she  wanted  one  or  two  things  done, 
BO  Martin  has  gone  to  see  about  it.  Of  course,  Mr.  Gordon, 
being  a  bachelor  and  taking  his  meals  here,  didn't  need — " 

"  Ah,  yes;  just  so,"  said  Esther,  breaking  in,  gently.  "  I 
think  I'll  go  and  find  Mr.  Martin,  then.  Will  you  come, 
Nettie?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Nettie,  "  I  often  do  there;  it  was  poor 
Jack's  cottage,  you  know." 

:'  Why  do  you  say  '  poor  '  Jack,  Nettie?"  Esther  asked, 
half  sorry,  yet  more  than  half  glad,  that  the  child  should  talk 
•f  him. 

"  Why,  'cos  he's  dorn  away,  and  father  says  the  people  are 
all  against  him,  'cos  he's  done  something — I  don't  know 
sackly  what.  Do  you?" 

"  Not  exactly;  indeed,  I'm  not  sure  Mr.  Gordon  has  done 
anything  to  set  the  people  against  him — not  sure,  mind, 
Nettie." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  tare  if  he  did,"  said  the  child,  calmly. 
'"  I  shouldn't  tare  what  he  did,  'cos  you  see,  I  love  him." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Esther;  and,  oh,  did  she  not  under* 
stand  fully!  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  have  echoed  the 
child's  humiliating  confession. 

The  cottage  door  was  open,  and  Esther  looked  in. 

"  Your  father  is  not  there,"  she  said.  "  No  one  seems  to 
be  there." 

Nettie  went  in,  and  Esther  followed  her.  Someone  had 
been  making  some  repairs;  there  was  the  usual  pail  of 
whitewash  and  brush,  the  usual  splodge  of  mortar  neatly 
dabbed  down  on  the  floor.  In  the  cracks  between  the  hearth- 
stone and  the  boards  was  the  point  of  a  crowbar  as  if  the 
workman  had  heard  his  luncheon-hour  strike  at  the  moment 
of  inserting  the  bar,  and,  true  to  the  traditions  of  his  class, 
had  instantly  dr  pped  the  tool  as  if  it  were  red  hot. 

The  place  lookeu  very  desolate,  and  Esther,  as  she  glanced 
round  dreamily  and  sadly,  thought  of  the  evening  she  had  en- 
tered it  with  Jack  and  waited  to  see  if  he  would  oifer  her  any 


272  urns,.  THE  TYRANT. 

of  the  wild  hyacinths.  Nettie,  meanwhile,  amused  herself  by 
sticking  her  toe  in  the  mortar  and  handling  the  tools,  bat 
presently  she  came,  in  a  course  of  whitewash,  brush,  and 
trowel,  to  the  crowbar. 

"  What's  this.  Miss  Vancourt?"  she  asked.  "  IVs  like  a 
iron  stick,  isn't  it?  What's  its  stuck  in  this  crack  for?" 

"  The  man  is  going  to  lift  the  stone  with  it."  replied 
Esther. 

Nettie  looked  at  "her  solemnly. 

"  When  you  don't  know  the  answer  to  a  question,  yo» 
should  say  you  don't,  not  tell  a  story,"  she  remarksd,  se- 
verely. "  That's  what  the  teacher  told  me  last  Sunday. 
You're  very  wicked,  Miss  Vancourt." 

"  No,  I'm  not — not  in  this  case,"  said  Esther,  laughingly 
"  The  stone  can  be  lifted  quite  easily  if  you  press  on  this  bar. 
Why,  I  can  do  it,  you  seer' 

She  put  some  pressure  on  the  crowbar,  and  presently  the 
sfcne  began  to  rise.  Nettie  clapped  her  hands,  too  delighted 
to  be  penitent.  "  Oh,  let  me— let  me!"  she  cried;  but 
Esther  was  afraid. 

"  No,  no!"  she  said.  "  See,  I'll  lift  the  stone  right  up— 
here  it  comes!" 

"  So  it  does.  How  clever  you  are — least  it's  the  bar,  isn't 
it,  not  you?  Oh,  look,  Miss  Vancourt,  here's  something  un* 
derneath;  it's  a  tin." 

Esther  bent  down  and  saw  the  tin  Jack  had  so  carefully 
placed  there. 

"  Bring  me  that  brick,  quickly,  Nettie!"  she  said.  The 
child  got  the  brick,  and  Esther  pushed  it  with  her  foot  under 
the  edge  of  the  stone  so  as  to  support  it,  then  she  took  up  the 
tin. 

!t  What  a  funny  place  to  keep  it  in,"  remarked  Nettie. 
"  What's  in  it,  does  oo  tink,  Miss  Vancourt?" 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  there  was  money."  replied 
Esther. 

"  What!  real  money — pennies?"  cried  Nettie,  with  eyes 
like  saucers. 

Esther  nodded,  held  the  tin  in  her  hand  for  a  moment  or 
two  looking  at  it  thoughtfully,  then  opened  it.  With  the 
child's  eyes  upon  her,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  conceal  her 
agitation  at  the  sight  of  the  contents. 

A  marriage  certificate,  and  a  bundle  of  bank-notes! 

She  stood,  flushing,  girl-like,  feeling  half  frightened  by  her 
disco verv.  and  Nettie's  esctanufctiou  of: 


TOfB,  THE  TYEAKT.  273 

*'Is  there  many  pennies?  is  it  full  of  them?"  almost 
startled  her. 

"No;  there  are  no  pennies,  Nettie,"  she  said.  "  BE  • 
never  mind,  I  think  I  can  find  some  in  my  pocket." 

As  she  walked  homewards  with  the  tin  in  her  hand,  she 
asked  hersel*  what  she  should  do  with  it,  whether,  indeed,  she 
had  had  any  right  to  take  it  from  the  cottage;  and  though 
she  argued  on  the  latter  point  that  the  cottage  was  her  own 
property,  and,  primp,  facie,  everything  in  it,  the  first  ques- 
tion worried  her.  To  whom  could  it  belong,  and  why  had  the 
owner  hidden  it  under  the  hearthstone?  When  she  got  to  her 
ro!3m  she  examined  the  tin  and  the  notes.  The  tin  was  still 
bright,  and  had  recently  been  placed  beneath  the  stone. 
Could  it  belong  to  Mr.  Gordon?  The  colour  rushed  to  her 
face,  then  left  it  pallid.  If"it  were  his,  the  certificate — 

She  rose,  trembling  in  every  limb,  fearfully  moved  by  the 
suspicion  which  swooped  down  upon  her.  Was  this  the  cer- 
tificate of  his  marriage?  If  not,  why  should  he  desire  t»  hide 
it,  why  should  he  have  considered  it  too  valuable  to  carry 
about  with  him? 

Slio  Sung  her  hands  before  her  face  and  fought  against  the 
idea.  After  all,  there  was  no  evidence  that  the  tin  and  its 
contents  had  been  placed  in  their  place  of  concealment  by 
him,  or  that  thev  belonged  to  him.  Was  she  going  to  be  as 
hard  as  those  others  who  had  been  so  ready  to  believe  him 
guiltv  of  enticing  Kate  Transom  to  leave  her  home? 

What  shoul  i  she  do  with  the  tin?  She  looked  at  it  with  a 
repugnance  which  increased  at  each  moment,  then  she  picked 
it  up  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  locked  it  in  the  small 
safe  in  which  she  kept  her  jewels. 

"  I'll  give  it  to  Mr.  Floss  and  tell  him  where  I  found  it," 
she  said  to  herself.  She  bathed  her  face,  and  went  down- 
stairs and  into  the  library,  and  was  writing  a  note  to  Mr. 
Floss  asking  him  to  come  to  the  Toweis,  when  the  door 
opened  and  in  walked  Selb\T  Layton. 

Esther  started;  the  finding  of  the  tin  box  and  the  questions 
{t  had  called  up  had  rather  unnerved  her. 

"  Oh,  are  you  backl'r  Then  feeling  that  this  was  scarcely  a 
sufficiently  warm  greeting  to  a  friend,  she  added:  "  How  do 
you  do?" 

"  May  I  come  in?"  he  said.  "  I  heard  you  were  here,  and 
I  know  you  are  anxious  to  hear  the  result  of  mv  mission." 

She  nodded  slightly,  arid  the  line  between  her  eyes  grefr 
ieeper.  It  seemed  that  every  hour,  every  minutej  she  waa 

tA  ha  r«minrlod  of  Jack  Gordon 


274  HOVE,  THE  TTBABT. 

"  Have  you — have  you  been  successful?"  she  said.  "  You 
have  been  very  quick — I  mean  " — as  his  face  fell  and  he  stol« 
a  tender,  reproachful  glance  at  her — "  that  I  did  not  expect 
that  yon  would  have  discovered  anything  so  soon/' 

"  I  have  been  very  fortunate,"  he  said.  "  Indeed,  I  owe 
my  success  to  a  sheer  piece  of  luck.  I  had  been  hunting  for 
days,  in  quite  the  amateur  detective  fashion,  without  any  re- 
sults; but  one  day  I  chanced  to  go  down  to  the  docks,  and 
while  driving  through  one  of  the  streets — poor  people!  hovr 
one  pities  them  this  weather! — I  saw  them. 

Esther  sat,  her  head  resting  on  her  hand,  mechanically 
making  formless  figures  on  the  paper. 

"  Them?"  she  said,  in  a  low  vooice. 

"  Yes,"  he  said;  then  he  chose  the  proper  tone,  one  of 
grave  regret.  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  say  f.hat  poor  Transom's 
fears  were  only  too  well  grounded.  His  daughter  had  gone 
to  Mr.  Gordon.  I  saw  the  fellow  helping  her  out  of  a  fly  and 
into  one  of  the  houses — " 

Esther  rose  and  went  to  one  of  the  windows,  so  that  he 
might  not  see  the  deathly  pallor  of  her  face,  the  quivering 
lips. 

"  I  saw  them  quite  distinctly,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  they 
did  not  see  me.  They  were  of  a  party,  just  returned  from 
some  outing,  an  outing  of  the  usual  loud  and  vulgar  kind." 

Esther  tapped  softly  with  her  fingers  on  the  coloured  glass 
which  sent  its  patches  of  colour  on  her  face. 

"  You  saw  them  distinctly?"  she  said.  "  There— there  is 
no  mistake?" 

"  Oh,  quite;  I  am  quite  certain!  It  is  not  possible  for  me 
to  have  been  mistaken.  I  made  some  enquiries  afterwards 
and  I  found  that  they  were — I  trust  they  are  man  and  wife," 
he  murmrued. 

Esther  started:  the  marriage  certificate! 

"  Now,  the  question  is/'  he  went  on,  approaching  her 
slowly,  "  shall  I  tell  her  father — that  hot-tempered  young 
man,  Dick  Reeve?  It  is  for  you  to  decide. " 

Esther  frowned. 

"  I— I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  I  will  think  of  it.  Poor 
girl — poor  girl!" 

"  Ah,  yes.  They  were  leading  a  life  of  the  lowest  dissipa- 
tion. But  let  us  think  the  best.  They  may  be  married.  I 
can  find  that  out,  I  daresay — " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  quickly,  with  a  little  shudder.  "  Yon 
shall  not  take  any  further  trouble,  you— you  have  done 
enough." 


I/OVE,  THE  TYRAOT.  275 

w  Not  enough!  Can  I  ever  do  enough  to  win  a  word  of 
praise  from  you?"  he  murmured.  "  And  yet  do  you  remem- 
oer  your  promise,  your  half-promise,  that — that  when  I  re» 
turned — ?  Esther,  I  have  come  back." 

"  And  I  have  not  forgotten/'  she  said,  with  a  sudden  im- 
pulse born  of  the  agony  of  shame  caused  by  the  news  he  had 
Drought,  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

A  low  cry  of  exultation  escaped  him,  but  he  checked  it  as 
he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  Murmured  her  name. 

He  had  won! 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THERE  is  no  sweeter  time  in  a  girl's  life  than  the  hours 
which  immediately  follow  the  plighting  of  her  troth  to  the 
man  she  loves;  but  to  Esther,  her  engagement  to  Selby  Lay- 
ton  brought  neither  sweetness  nor  happiness,  to  say  nothing 
of  that  rapture  which  only  the  woman  who  loves,  and  who  is 
betrothed  to  the  object  of  her  love,  can  know.  A  kind  of 
apathy,  the  apathy  of  the  fatalist  fell  upon  her,  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  the  news  of  Jack  Gordon's  treachery  and  base- 
ness which  Selby  Layton  had  brought,  had  deadened  her  sense 
of  feeling  and  had  rendered  her  indifferent  as  to  her  future. 

Though  she  had  promised  to  be  Selby  Layton's  wife,  'her 
manner  was  little  less  reserved,  scarcely  less  cold  than  it  had 
been  before;  indeed,  so  self-possessed,  so  free  from  the  usual 
embarrassment  was  she,  that  Selby  Layton  had  not  ventured 
upon  the  caress  which  at  such  a  time  is  offered  and  received 
with  such  infinite  joy. 

Esther  communicated  the  fact  of  her  engagement  to  Miss 
Worcester  in  such  a  business-like  way  in  terms  and  a  manner 
BO  devoid  of  sentiment  as  to  cause  that  lady,  who  was  of  a 
sentimental  nature,  to  gaze  at  her  with  astonishment. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  Esther,  I  am  delighted,"  she  said; 
"  and  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  surprised,  for  Mr.  Layton — I 
suppose  one  must  get  accustomed  to  calling  him  Selby;  it 
will  seem  strange  at  first,  but  no  doubt  I  shall  get  used  to  it, 
especially  as  it  is  rather  a  pretty  name,  don't  you  think? — no, 
I  am  not  surprised;  for  ne  is  a  most  charming  man,  so 
polished  and  accomplished,  and  with  such  a  lovely  voice;  I 
said,  when  first  I  saw  him,  that  I  thought  him  an  admirable 
and  most  taking  man." 

"  Did  you,  aunt?  I  don't  remember,"  said  Esther,  taking 
up  her  book  and  looking  at  it  rather  listlessly. 


276  MJVE,  1"HE  TYRANT. 

"  Yes,**  continued  Miss  Worcester;  "  and  it>  i3  so  nice, 

knowing  all  about  him,  isn't  it?" 

Esther  raised  her  eyes  from  the  book  which  she  was  not 
reading. 

"  Do  we  know  all  about  him?"  she  said;  for  as  her  aunt 
had  made  the  remark  it  occurred  to  Esther  how  little  they 
really  knew  of  her  affianced's  past. 

"  Well,  I  mean  that  he  belongs  to  the  family,  that  he  is  a 
Vancourt,  and  it  is  nice  to  know  that." 

Esther  could  not  help  smiling.  In  Miss  Worcester's  opinion 
the  fact  of  belonging,  however  remotely,  to  the  great  Van- 
court  family,  was  a  credential  of  all  the  virtues  and  respecta- 
bilities. 

"But  my  dear  Esther,  how  calm — er — not  to  say  cool,  you 
aeem!  I  snppose  you  have  known  your  mind,  have  foreseen 
the  engagement,  for  some  time  past?  I  always  thought  that 
young  girls  were  always  in  a  flutter  at  such  an  important, 
finch  a  thrilling,  moment  in  their  lives;  but  you  sit  there  as 
calmly  and  coolly  as  if  you  had  just  told  me  you  had  engaged 
a  new  coachman." 

"  It's  an  important  step  enough,  no  doubt,"  said  Esther; 
"  but  I  have  not  experienced  any  thrills  as  yet;  perhaps  they 
inay  come  later,"  she  added,  as  if  she  were  half  ashamed  of 
her  inappropriate  self-possession  and  frigidity;  but  as  she 
spoke  she  knew  that  such  thrills  would  not  be  evoked  by  any 
love  of  hers  for  Selby  Lay  ton. 

She  remembered  too  well  the  electric  current  that  had 
rushed  through  every  vein,  every  fibre  of  her  being  as  Jack 
Gordon  t.id  taken  her  in  his  arms  and  .pressed  his  hot  lips  to 
hers,  to  hope  that  any  other  man  could  by  word  or  caress  ever 
BO  move  her. 

"  I  always  said  that  yon  were  a  strange  girl,  my  dear 
Esther,"  remarked  Miss  Worcester;  "  ana  I  am  more  than 
ever  convinced  of  the  fact.  Well,  perhaps  it  is  better  in  these 
emotional  days  to  seem  insensible  rather  than  to  be  too  de- 
monstrative; but  of  this  I  am  perfectly  certain,  that  Mr.  L;y- 
ton — I  really  must  try  and  call  him  Selby! — is  truly  and  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  you." 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Esther,  with  a  coolness  which  staggered 
the  old  lady;  "  or  why  should  he  want  to  marry  me." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  responded  Miss  Worcester,  who  was  not 
a  little  shocked;  "  you  must  remember  that  you  are  an  heir- 
ess, that  you  are  the  mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers — " 

— "And  that  Mr.  Lav  tun  may  be  marrying  me  for  my 
mouev,"  said  Esther,  with  a  slight  shriur.  "  T  thought  men 


LOVE,  THE  TYBA1TT.  277 

toe  wise,  nowadays,  in  the  light  of  our  modern  philoso- 
phy, to  perpetrate  such  a  stupid  act  and  so  deprive  them- 
selves of  all  chance  of  happiness.  But  don't  let  us  discuss  my 
engagement,  aunt;  let  us  accept  it  as  an  accomplished  fact, 
and  with  as  little  fuss  as  possible." 

Miss  Worcester  gazed  over  her  spectacles  at  the  beautiful 
face,  with  its  white  brows  drawn  in  a  slight  frown,  and  mur- 
mured: 

"Yes,  you  are  a  strange  girl  my  dear."  Thsa,  after  a 
pause,  she  added:  "  I  suppose  under  the  circumstances  Mr. 
Layton — dear  me,  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  weeks  before  I  can 
remember  to  call  him  Selbv! — ought  not  to  stay  at  the 
Towers." 

"  Oh,  would  it  be  a  breach  of  propriety?"  said  Esther, 
quietly.  "  I  suppose  that  is  why  he  is  going  to  stay  at  the 
Fan  worths',  who  have  asked  him  to  pay  them  a  visit." 

"  Lady  Fanworth  was  so  delighted  with  his  singing,"  said 
Miss  Worcester.  "  How  delightful,  my  dear  Esther,  to  have 
a  husband  with  such  a  lovely  voice!" 

'  Yes,"  assented  Esther,  absently,  but  with  such  a  lack  of 
enthusiasm  that  Miss  Worcester  again  stared  at  her,  but  this 
time  speechlessly. 

At  this  moment  a  servant  announced  Mr.  Floss,  and  Esther 
rose  and  went  to  the  library. 

Once  or  twice,  since  her  acceptation  of  Selby  Layton,  she 
had  felt  she  ought,  that  it  was  her  duty,  to  tell  him  of  her 
discovery  of  the  tin  box  and  its  strange  contents;  and  cer- 
tainly, if  she  had  loved  him  in  the  very  least,  she  would  have 
been  compelled  to  tell  him,  and  would  gladly  have  obeyed*the 
impulse;  but  as  she  certainly  did  not  love  Selby  Layton,  she 
had  no  great  difficulty  in  persuading  herself  that  the  secret, 
not  being  entirely  hers,  might  \rell  be  kept  from  her  fiance  ; 
at  any  rate,  that  she  might  consult  Mr.  Floss,  the  lawyer,  be- 
fore telling  Selby  Layton  of  her  curious  find. 

Mention  has  once  or  twice  been  made  of  Mr.  Floss.  He 
was  an  old  gentleman,  who,  notwithstanding  his  age,  his 
white  hair  and  much  lined  and  wrinkled  face,  was  still  ii  pos- 
session of  all  his  faculties  and  legal  acute  ness.  He  was  one 
of  the  lawyers  of  the  old  school,  devoted  to  the  interests  of 
his  clients,  but  a  man  of  an  independent  mind,  which  revealed 
itself  in  an  abruptness  of  manner,  and  a  candour  which  was 
sometimes  startling  and  disconcerting.  His  father  and  grand- 
father before  him  had  been  the  solicitors  for  the  estate,  and 
this  Mr.  Floss  was  the  only  man,  perhaps,  who  had  enjoyed 
th«  mnfidaiuyi  of  fcha  late  Sir  Richard* 


278  WJVE,  THE  TYEAITT. 

Mr,  Floss  nad  been  very  kind  to  Esther,  had,,  when  fnanct- 
ing  her  to  the  wealthy  lands  and  money  which  Sir  Bichard  had 
so  strangely  and  unexpected  left  her,  saved  her  from  much 
trouble  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and  Esther,  though  she  pre- 
tended to  be  frightened  at  his  sharp,  brusque  manner  and 
grimly  gruff  voice,  was  grateful  to  him  and  liked  him.  And 
liked  him  none  the  less  because  he  had  once  told  her  that  he 
should  infinitely  have  preferred  that  the  murdered  nephew 
should  have  lived  and  inherited  the  estate,  instead  of  getting 
himself  killed  in  Australia  and  leaving  it  to  pass  to  a  young 
and  inexperienced  girl. 

'*  Good-morning,  Mr.  Floss,"  said  Esther,  holding  out  her 
hand,  which  he  took  and  bent  over  with  old-fashioned  court- 
esy. "  It  is  a  shame  to  trouble  you,  who,  I  know,  are  always 
so  busy;  but  I  wanted  to  tell  you  something." 

Now,  the  lawyer  had  already  heard  of  the  engagement  of 
his  girl-client  to  Mr.  Selby  Layton — such  news  spreads  fast 
and  runs  far  in  a  place  like  Vancourt — and  as  his  shrewd, 
sharp  eyes  rested  on  her  face  he  was  rather  surprised — but 
surprised  was  not  the-  word,  for  nothing  ever  surprised  Mr. 
Floss — not  to  see  the  maidenly  blush  which  he  expected  on 
Esther's  face. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "perhaps  I  have  heard  the  rumour  al- 
ready. And  so,  in  this  case,  rumour  does  not  lie?  My  dear 
Miss  Vancourt,  I  offer  you  my  best  and  most  sincere  wishes 
for  your  future  happiness;  and  I  trust  that  the  man  of  your 
choice  may  be,  I  will  not  say  worthy,  but  sensible  and  appre- 
ciative of  the  great  good  fortune  which  Heaven  has  sent  him." 

Esther  blushed  now,  but  the  colour  passed  from  her  face  at 
once  without  the  least  confusion  as  she  said : 

"  Oh,  thank  you;  you  are  speaking  of  my  engagement  to 
Mr.  Selby  Layton?  Thank  you  very  much!  But  I  wrote  to 
ask  you  to  be  kind  enough  tc  come  to  me  about  another  busi- 
ness." 

Mr.  Floss  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  beautiful  face,  and  it 
struck  him  that  Miss  Vancourt  was  taking' the  "  business  "  of 
her  engagement  very  coolly. 

"  Oh!  Anything  the  matter?  Have  you  been  speculating 
and  losing  your  money?  That's  what  most  of  you  women  do 
when  you  have  more  than  you  know  what  to  do  with." 

Esther  smiled. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  finding  some,"  she  said; 
and  she  proceeded  to  tell  him  how  she  had  found  the  treastue- 
trove  under  the  hearthstone.  The  old  man  listened,  his  chin 
in  his  baud*  bis  keen,  worldly  wise  eyes  fixed  on  her  from 


I0VE,  THE  TYRANT.  279 

under  their  beetling  brows,  but  said  nothing  until  she  had 
finished;  then  he  remarked: 

"  You  appear  to  me  to  be  a  very  lucky  young  lady,  Miss 
Vancourt.  Where  is  this  tin?  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"  I  locked  it  up  in  my  safe,"  she  said;  "  I  will  go  and 
fetch  it!" 

While  she  was  gone  Mr.  Floss  sat  and  pondered,  not  over 
her  discovery,  but  the  strange  way  in  which  she  had  accepted 
his  congratulation. 

"  Don't  believe  she  Dares  a  brass  farthing  for  the  fellow," 
he  said.  "  Now,  why  the  devil  is  she  marrying  him?  That's 
the  worst  of  women;  especially  when  they're  young  and 
pretty:  you  can  count  upon  anything  else  in  nature;  but  not 
on  a  girl.  She'll  always  do  the  unexpected,  and  baffle  the 
greatest  philosopher  alive." 

Esther  returned  with  the  tin  and  placed  it  on  the  table,  and 
Mr.  Floss  examined  it  and  its  contents  closely  and  carefully. 

"  Humph!"  he  said  at  last.  "  A  very  nice  little  find,  I 
congratulate  you,  it  will  help  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the 
honey-moon." 

Esther  blushed  slightly  and  smiled;  not  a  very  mirthful 
smile. 

"  But  it  doesn't  belong  to  me,  surely?"  she  said. 

Mr.  Floss  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

**  To  whom  else  does  it  belong,  then?"  he  asked. 

"  To  the  person  whom  put  it  there." 

"  Exactly.  But  who  was  that  person?  By  the  way,  who 
has  been  living  in  that  cottage  lately?  It  has  been  empty  for 
some  time,  I  know." 

Esther  tried  to  answer  indifferently: 

"  Mr.  Martin's  foreman,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"  Ah,  }es!"  said  Mr.  Floss;  "  I  remember  him.  A  very 
gentlemanly  young  fellow:  good  looking,  handsome  in  fact; 
very  pleasant  young  fellow  too." 

Esther  leant  back  in  her  easy-chair,  her  fingers  toying  with 
a  paper-knife;  she  examined  it  closely,  while  he  was  speak- 
ing, and  fought  hard  to  keep  the  colour  from  her  face,  the 
colour  which  had  not  risen  to  it  at  the  mention  of  Selby 
Layton. 

"  By  the  way,"  continued  Mr.  Moss,  "  I  heard  he  had 
gone.  Is  that  so?" 

'  Yes,"  replied  Esther. 

"Humph,  yes!    Not  the  sort  of  thing  to  talk  about:  heard 
Bome  gos-ip  about  a  girl:  old  Transom's  daughter.    Left  sud- 
„  Well,  I  suppose,  Misc  V<ttiGOurt«_  that  thii 


280  WVE,  THE  TYEAKT. 

find  of  yonrs  belongs  to  this  Mr.  Gordon.  The  box  11*3  no* 
been  long  under  that  hearthstone;  and,  what's  more,  till 
notes  have  been  only  recently  issued;  here  are  the  dates; 
that's  conclusive.  I  don't  see  his  name  in  the  pocket-book; 
and  the  man's  name  in  this  certificate  is  not  that  which  he 
bore  here.  You  had  no  character  with  him,  I  think,  had  you? 
And  knew  nothing  abont  him?" 

Esther  shook  her  head.  A  feeling  of  humiliation  attacked 
her;  and  yet  it  did  not  conquer  all  along  the  line.  Let  sus° 
picions  grow  as  quickly  as  they  might,  it  seemed  that  her  be- 
tief  in  Jack  Gordon  could  not  be  completely  overthrown. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Floss,  '*  for  some  reason  or  other  this 
young  fellow  who  called  himself  Gordon,  but  whose  name  is 
probably  " — he  glanced  at  the  certificate — "  Adolphus  Robin- 
son, had  some  reason  for  hiding  these  notes  and  this  pocket- 
book  and  its  contents,  which  form  evidence  of  his  identity,  I 
suspect  he  did  not  come  by  these  notes  honestly." 

Esther's  brows  came  together,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  her 
face. 

"I  do  not  know  why  you  should  say  that,"  she  said, 
quickly.  "  He  may  not  have  cared  to  carry  them  about  with 
him — may  have  put  them  there  and  forgotten  them — " 

She  bit  her  lip  as  Mr.  Floss  smiled  grimly  at  the  feebleness 
of  her  last  theory. 

"  Men  don't  stick  a  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  notes  under 
a  hearthstone  and  forget  them,  my  dear  Miss  Vancourt,"  he 
said.  "  No,  I  am  afraid  that  good-looking  and  gentlemanly 
young  fellow  was  a  rogue.  What  is  Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton's 
theory?" 

Esther  looked  down. 

"  I  have  not  told  Mr.  Laytpn  anything  about  it,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Floss  showed  his  surprise  at  such  reticence  by  raising 
his  shaggy  brows. 

"  Oh!"  he  said,  drily.  "But,  after  all,  I  think  your  si- 
lence was  very  wise.  There  is  a  little  mystery  here;  and  the 
less  one  talks  about  a  mystery  until  one  has  solved  it  and  it 
has  ceased  to  become  a  mystery,  the  better.  Unlike  the 
majority  of  your  sex,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  appear  to  be 
able  to  hold  your  tongue — a  precious  quality  in  any  woman, 
an  invaluable  one  in  a  wife.  I  will  take  these  things  and  see 
if  I  can  trace  the  notes;  meanwhile,  perhaps  you  won't  mind 
continuing  that  extremely  difficult  operation?" 

"  What  operation?"  asked  Esther. 

"  Holding  your  tongue,  my  dear  Miss  Vancourt,"  said 
Mr.  Floss.  "4&£oow*  respecting  this  eruraaemeati  I  am 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT,  281 

Wider  the  impression  that  Mr.  Layton  in  not  a  wealthy  man. 
Am  I  right?'' 

"  He  is  not  a  rich  man,"  said  Esther. 

"  Quite  so;  then  he  will  not  be  able  to  make,  on  his  part, 
the  usual  marriage  settlement.  You  will,  of  coarse,  have  the 
whole  of  your  property  settled  in  the  usual  way?" 

"  Is  that  necessary?"  asked  Esther. 

The  old  man  looked  at  her,  not  angrily,  but  with  the  pe- 
culiarly grim  smile  which  not  only  silenced,  but  struck  awe 
into  many  a  client. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  its  being  necessary,  my  ds-ir  Miss 
Vancourt,"  he  said.  "  But  I  do  know  that  it  will  be  done; 
and  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Selby  Layton  would  be  the  first  to 
suggest  such  a  settlement.  Now,  don't  try  and  argue. 
You've  shown  yourself  up  till  now  a  most  reasonable  young 
lady.  You  leave  this  matter  entirely  to  Floss  &  Floss,  Miss 
Vancourt,  and,  if  I  may  say  so  without  egotism,  you  will  have 
no  reason  to  regret  having  done  so." 

Esther  laughed. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  do  whatever  you  please  without 
any  consent  of  mine,  Mr.  Floss,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  shall,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  as- 
sented. "  The  fact  of  it  is,  I  and  those  before  me  have  been 
so  accustomed  to  advising  the  heads  of  your  house  and  guid- 
ing their  fortunes  that  we  have  come  to  regard  ourselves  as 
the  guardian  angel  of  Vancourt  Towers.  Sometimes  you  have 
given  us  trouble — the  family,  I  mean — but  you  generally 
ccme  round  to  our  way  of  thinking;  and  in  this  instance  it 
behooves  us  to  guard  your  interests — " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  the  door  had  opened,  and  Selby 
Layton  stood  just  on  the  threshold.  At  sight  of  Mr.  Floss  he 
started  slightly,  and  there  came  to  his  lips  the  peculiar  little 
twist  which  he  had  never  succeeded  in  mastering.  The  old 
lawyer's  keen,  hawk-like  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  Selby  Lay- 
ton's  face,  and  at  the  same  time,  as  he  seemed  to  hold  Selby 
Lay  ton's  gaze,  he  dropped  his  large  and  old-fashioned  silk 
handkerchief  over  the  tin  box. 

"  I  beg  yocr  pardon,"  said  Selby  Laytoc,  in  his  soft  voice 
and  with  his  most  ingratiating  smile,  I  thought  you  were 
alone,  Esther." 

"  This  is  Mr.  Floss,"  said  Esther,  with  toe  repressed  man- 
ner in  which  she  now  addressed  Selby  Layton. 

His  smile  grew  sleeker,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  with  a 
charming  air  of  frankness. 

"  \  know  Mr.  Floss,  by  repute,  at  aaf  «te. 


282  LOYE,  THE  TYEANT. 

Mr,  Floss  inclined  his  head  rather  shortly,  said  a  fsw  effB 
things  in  his  abrupt,  laconic  fashion,  declined  Esther's  invita- 
tion to  lunch,  and  took  his  departure.  As  he  was  crossing 
the  hall  he  stopped,  and  said: 

"Ah,  by  the  way,  I  had  almost  forgotten!  Fulford  has 
been  worrying  me  about  the  Hav/k's  Pool,  Miss  Van  court.  It 
seems  that  this  new-fangled  Parish  Council,  pining  for  some- 
thing to  do,  has  conceived  an  idea  that  the  pool  is  unhealthy. 
They  say  that  the  medical  officer  has  traced  a  case  of  scarlet 
fever,  or  typhoid,  or  something  of  the  kind,  to  the  noxious 
vapours  rising  from  the  stagnant  water;  and  Mr.  Fulford 
tells  me  that  the  Council  are  going  to  serve  us  with  a  notice 
to  have  it  drained,  or  something  of  the  kind —  What's  that?" 

"  That "  was  the  noise  of  falling  china.  A  superb  vase, 
which,  a  moment  before — indeed,  a  century  before — had 
sto  d  npon  a  pedestal  near  the  stairs,  lay  shattered  at  the  base 
of  the  pillar,  and  Mr.  Selby  Layton  stood,  the  picture  of  dis- 
may and  regret,  regarding  the  destruction  he  had  wrought. 

"  I  am  so  very  sorry!"  he  said.  "  I  turned  rather  quickly, 
and  my  sleeve  caught  the  vase.  It  is  dreadfully  clumsy  of 
me,  and  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  regret  it." 

He  was  evidently  very  much  cut  up  by  the  accident,  for  hia 
face  was  quite  white  as  he  knelt,  with  the  usual  futile  object 
of  picking  up  the  pieces;  so  evidently  distressed  that  Esther 
tried  to  laugn  off  his  remorse. 

"  Pray  don't  worry  about  it,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  it  has 
not  been  broken  years  ago.  I  have  nearly  knocked  it  off  its 
perch  half  a  dozen  times." 

"  It  is  the  Etruscan  vase,"  said  Mr.  Floss,  "  and  unique; 
tmt  I've  no  doubt  it  can  be  mended  as  to  seem  quite  whole. 
They  tell  me  that  there  is  a  wonderful  cement  which  will 
piece  even  broken  hearts  together.  My  little  pony  carriage  is 
only  at  the  end  of  the  drive,  Mr.  Layton;  pray  don't  trouble 
to  accompany  me." 

As  the  old  man  went  down  the  avenue,  leaning  slightly  on 
bis  stick,  for  he  drank  the  lawyer's  wine — port,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, had  the  lawyer's  complaint,  gout — his  shaggy  brows 
worked  up  and  down,  and  he  muttered  to  himself: 

"  So  that's  to  be  the  new  master  of  Vancourt.  Humphl 
Don't  like  him:  good-looking  and  pleasant-mannered,  but 
there's  something  about  his  face,  about  the  lips,  I  think- 
Now,  why  did  he  start  when  he  saw  me?  There's  nothing 
very  terrible  in  an  old  man  sitting  quietly  in  a  chair.  Don't 
like  nervous  young  men  who  start:  got  a  barley-sugar  yoice, 
too:  a  voice  iust  Jake  that  young  fellow  who  stole  who  office 


LOVE,  THE  TYBAJTI.  283 


petty  cash.  And  how  did  he  come  to  knock  over  that  Yase?— 
Sir  Kichard  gave  fifteen  hundred  pounds  for  that  piece  of 
crockery  —  Mr.  Layton  wasn't  standing  near  it  a  moment  be- 
fore: doesn't  seem  to  be  an  awkward  kind  of  man,  rather  the 
reverse.  Humph!  Wonder  why  that  sweet  and  pretty  girl 
is  going  to  marry  bun:  didn't  look  and  talk  as  if  she  cared 
much  for  him.  At  any  rate,  we'll  tie  the  property  up  pretty 
securely.  What  was  1  saying  when  that  vase  tumbled  down? 
Something  about  the  Hawk's  Pool,  wasn't  I?  Confound  the 
man!  I  can't  get  him  out  of  my  head." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

WHEN  Mr.  Floss  had  gone,  Selby  Layton  turned  to  Esther 
with  renewed  expressions  of  regret  and  self-reproach  for  his 
"  clumsiness;"  he  was  still  very  white,  and  there  was  a  drawn 
look  about  his  lips,  as  if  he  were  quite  upset  by  the  accident. 

"  Pray  don't  say  any  more,"  said  Esther,  speaking  less 
coldly  than  usual;  for  his  distress  was  evident  and  so  great 
that  she  pitied  him.  "  It  is  really  of  no  consequence — oh, 
yes,  I  believe  that  the  vase  was  costly  and  rare,  not  to  say 
unique,  bat  there  are  many  costly  and  rare,  not  to  say  unique, 
things  about  the  place  that  one  gets  rather  weary  of  them  and 
is  almost  inclined  to  feel  relieved  when  one  of  them  gets 
smashed.  Palmer  will  collect  the  pieces  carefully  and  I've 
not  the  least  doubt  that  they  can  be  put  together  again,  and 
that,  as  Mr.  Floss  says,  the  vase  will  be  all  the  more  valuable 
for  having  been  broken." 

He  looked  at  her  gratefully. 

"  How  sweet  you  are!"  he  murmured,  in  his  soft  voice. 
"  You  ought  to  have  been  angry  with  me  for  my  carelessness. 
By  the  way,  what  was  it  Mr.  Floss  was  saying?  I  had  just 
knocked  down  a  vase  and  only  heard  something  about  the 
Parish  Council." 

"Oh,  ifc-was  something  about  the  Hawk's  Pool,"  re- plied 
Esther;  "  it  is  curious  that  the  subject  should  have  cropped 
up  again — if  you  remember  we  were  talking  about  it  the  other 
morning." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,"  he  said,  lightly;  "  I  do  hope  that 
they  will  not  interfere  with  it." 

Esther  shrugged  her  shoulders  rather  indifferently. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  drain  it,  if  they  insist  upon  it,*1 
she  said. 

At  this  moment  the  dog-cart,  that  was  to  drive  him  to  the 
to  the  door. 


284  LOVE,  TFE  TYHAHT. 

"  Here  i>  ycror  cart,*'  said  Esther.     "  111  say 
nov."  she  added,  hastily,  "as  I  want  to  see  aunt.     Please 
give  mv  Kind  regards  to  the  Fan  worths." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  feeling  relieved  at  the  thought  that 
he  conld  not  offer  to  caress  her  in  sight  of  the  servants. 

"  And  when  shall  I  see  you  again?"  he  murmured,  in  a 
low  voice,  and  holding  her  hand. 

Eelh^i-  drew  it  away,  and  said,  with  a  return  of  her  old 
coldness: 

"  Oh,  you  are  all  coming  over  to  dine  the  day  after  to» 
morr^-v,  you  know." 

He  bit  his  lip.  He  would  have  liked  to  come  over  every 
day:  but,  strangely  enough,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  exact 
even  this  ordinary  privilege  of  the  accepted  lover. 

As  he  dro?e  towards  Fan  worth  he  fought  against  the  feeling 
of  dread,  of  welJ-gounded  apprehension  which  weighed  upon 
his  heart  like  lead;  and  though  he  could  not  actually  see  the 
Hawk's  Pool  as  they  passed  it  where  it  lay  hidden  by  the 
trees,  his  mental  eye  saw  it,  and  he  shuddered.  All  his  cun- 
ning would  be  of  no  avail,  ever?  precaution  he  had  taken 
would  be  worse  than  useless,  if  that  accursed  pool  were 
drained  and  the  horrible  object  hidden  in  its  depths  exposed 
to  view;  for  in  the  dead  man's  trouser  pocket  was  the  cheque 
which  Selby  Layton  had  given  him,  and  the  existence  of 
which  he,  Selby,  had  forgotten  in  the  intense  moments  after 
the  crime.  He  told  himself  that  it  would  sever  do  to  appear 
at  Fanworth  Court  with  a  gloomy,  fear-stricken  countenance, 
which  he  knew  he  at  that  moment  wore;  so  he  buoyed  him- 
self up  with  the  reflection  that  parish  councils  are  slow  to 
move;  that  it  was  very  probable  that  they  would  do  nothing 
in  the  matter  of  the  Hawk's  Pool  until  after  his  marriage 
with  Esther;  and  that  then  he  could  fight  them  in  the  law 
courts  and  prevent  them  interfering  with  the  ghastly  piece  of 
water  which  hid  his  secret. 

His  countenance  had  resumed  something  of  its  usual  se- 
renity and  air  of  self-satisfaction  by  the  time  he  had  reached 
Fanworth  Court,  where  he  received  the  welcome  which  the 
good-natured  couple  always  extended  so  spontaneously  to 
their  guests.  Neither  Lord  nor  Lady  Fanworth,  even  if  they 
nad  been  on  the  rack,  would  have  confessed  that  they  did  not 
care  very  much  for  Mr.  Selby  Layton,  or  that  they  had  not 
asked  him  from  the  intense  desire  for  hie  company;  it  had 
been  sufficient  for  them  that  Esther,  of  whom  they  were  very 
foad,  had  accepted  him,  and  that  he  could  not  very  well  stay 
at  the  DowttEi.  Lord  Fan  worth  trotted  him  tomtA  the  nark 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  285 

•ana  garden  and  over  the  home  farm,  of  which  he  was  some- 
what proud. 

"Of  course,  it's  not  nearly  so  large  or  so  good  a  farm  as 
that  of  Vancourt,"  he  remarked.  "They've  the  best  land 
in  the  county,  and  have  always  been  more  successful  in  the 
show-ring  than  we  have.  Speaking  of  that,  I'm  sorry  to  hear 
that  that  young  fellow,  that  young  foreman  of  Martin's,  has 
gone.  Some  scandal  about  him,  isn't  there  ?" 

Selby  Layton  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "The  neighborhood  is  well  rid  of  him: 
&  good-looking,  plausible  scoundrel." 

After  they  had  trapesed  round  the  farm  and  admired  steers 
and  heifers,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  and  pigs,  which  he 
loathed,  it  was  time  to  dress.  He  was  passing  through  the 
hall  when  he  heard  Lady  Farnworth  say  to  her  husband: 

"Harry  is  coming  down;  I  have  just  had  a  telegram." 

And  while  Selby  Layton  was  dressing,  stopping  every  now 
and  then  to  thrust  from  him  the  brooding,  haunting  memory 
which  darkened  his  existence,  he  heard  a  loud  and  cheerful 
voice  in  the  hall. 

On  going  into  the  drawing-room  just  before  dinner,  he  saw 
a  tall,  strongly  built  young  fellow  leaning  against  the  mantel- 
shelf. 

"This  is  my  nephew,  Harry  Coverdale,"  said  Lady  Fan- 
worth.  "I  have  just  been  telling  him  about  you  and  Esther, 
Mr.  Layton." 

Selby  Layton  smiled  pleasantly,  and  the  young  fellow  gave 
the  short  nod  with  which  men  acknowledge  an  introduction. 
They  went  in  to  dinner — there  were  no  other  guests — and  the 
nephew  did  most  of  the  talking.  He  was  very  bright  and 
cheery,  and  a  little  abrupt  and  slightly  rough  in  his  manner 
of  speech,  and  Lord  Fanworth,  as  if  apologising  or  explain- 
ing, said  in  an  undertone  to  Selby : 

"My  nephew  has  been  rather  wild — I  don't  mean  in  the 
worst  sense ;  he  is  one  of  those  restless  young  fellows  who 
don't  seem  able  to  stop  in  one  place  for  three  weeks  together. 
Fortunately  for  him,  he  has  means  of  his  own,  and  is  able  to 
gratify  his  Wandering-Jew  inclinations.  I  never  know  where 
he  is,  and  we  rarely  hear  from  him,  unless  it's  in  the  shape  of 
a  telegram  saying  that  he  has  come  from  one  of  the  far  ends 
of  the  earth,  and  will  dine  or  stay  with  us.  For  instance,  I 
haven't  the  least  notion  where  he  has  come  from.  Where  have 
you  come  from,  Harry?"  he  asked,  addressing  the  young  fel- 
low, who  was  making  Lady  Fanworth  laugh  with  some  trav* 
ellers  talc  or  other. 


286  LOVE,  THE  TYRA1ST. 

"  I  hare  iust  come  from  Australia,  sir,"  he  said;  *'  from  a 
place  I  don*t  suppose  you  ever  heard  of — Wally  Ford." 

"  What  were  you  doing  there?"  asked  Selby,  with  polite 
interest 

"  Digging,"  replied  Coverdale.  "  Did  I  make  my  fortune, 
you  are  going  to  ask.  No,  I  didn't!"  He  laughed  content- 
edly. "  I  don't  think  anyone  made  a  fortune  in  Wally  Ford: 
it  was  never  much  better  than  *  pay  dirt;'  and  the  claim  I 
was  on  had  been  pretty  well  worked  by  the  two  fellows  of 
whom  I  bought  it.  By  the  way,"  he  went  on,  very  gravely, 
"  I  was  just  telling  my  aunt  of  a  strange  coincidence,  Mr. 
Layton.  One  of  these  men  was  no  other  than  Sir  Richard 
Vancourt's  nephew — John  Vancourt." 

Selby  Layton  regarded  the  speaker  with  intense  and  genu- 
ine interest. 

"  Of  course  that's  not  the  name  he  went  by;  he  was  called 
Arthur  Burton;  and  I  don't  think — in  fact,  I  am  sure — that 
no  one  in  the  camp,  excepting  myself,  knew  his  right  name. 
Everybody  goes  by  an  alias  in  Australia,  or  nearly  everybody, 
for  tne  best  or  the  worst  of  reasons,  aud  nobody  is  curious 
about  his  neighbour;  on  the  *  glass  houses  and  stone-throw- 
ing '  principle." 

"  How  did  you  learn  that  this  Arthur  Burton  was  Sir  Rich- 
ard Vancourt's  nephew  and  heir?"  asked  Selby  Layton. 

"  Very  simply,"  replied  Coverdale;  "  I  borrowed  a  match- 
box of  him  one  night;  he  had,  perhaps,  years  before, 
scratched  his  name  on  it — I  mean  his  real  name,  Jack  Van- 
court.  I  up  and  asked  him,  in  a  moment  of  extreme  friend- 
liness, whether  it  was  his  name,  and  be  admitted  it.  He  gave 
me  the  match-box  as  a  kind  of  lucky  gift  when  I  bought  the 
claim  of  him  and  his  partner."  He  sighed  and  looked  down 
at  his  plate.  "  I  little  thought  that  he  would  join  the  ma- 
iority  so  soon  afterwards.  He  was  a  splendid  fellow  and  must 
nave  sold  his  life  dearly.  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  more 
magnificent  specimen  of  manhood.  He  was  over  six  feet,  per- 
fectly proportioned,  quick  as  a  greyhound,  and  strong  as  a 
lion,  r  ve  seen  that  man  do  things  that  would  make  a  profes- 
sional '  strong  man  '  sit  down.  And  to  think  that  such  a  fine 
fellow,  such  a  good  fellow,  *  one  of  the  best/  should  be  mur- 
dered by  a  blackguardly  bnshrangerl" 

And  just  after  he  had  inherited  the  title  and  the  estates," 
Lord  Farnsworth  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  beastly  bad  luck,"  assented  Coverdale;  then  he  col- 
•ur«d  and  turned  to  Selby  Layton  apologetically.  "I  beg 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANTS  287 

yonr  pardon,  Mr.  Layton;  I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  the 
lady  to  whom  you  are  engaged  has  come  into  the  property. " 

"  No  apology  is  needed,"  responded  Selby,  with  his  ingra- 
tiatory  little  bow.  "  I  assure  you  Miss  Vancourt  deeply  regrets 
ner  cousin's  death,  and  that,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  she 
would  have  infinitely  preferred  that  he  should  have  lived  and 
enjoyed  the  title  and  estates." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  said  Lord  Fanworfch.  "  And  does 
not  in  the  least  exaggerate  Miss  Vancourt's  feelings." 

"  I  suppose  you  heard  a  full  account  of  poor  Arthur  Bur- 
ton's— I  mean  Jack  Vancourt's — death,  from  the  man  who 
was  with  him  at  the  time,  his  chum — .  Dear  me!  I  quite 
forget  his  name;  a  very  decent  chap,  quiet  and  reserved,  and 
rather  delicate,  I  should  think.  Arthur  Burton  took  care  of 
him,  looked  after  him  and  nursed  him  through  a  fever,  sev- 
eral fevers:  he  was  always  getting  them." 

"  No,"  said  Selby  Layton;  "  strange  to  say,  this  man  dis- 
appeared immediately  after  Vancourt's  death.  I  don't  think 
I  ever  heard  his  name.  All  the  details  of  Vancourt's  death 
came  from  the  police." 

Coverdale  nodded. 

"Most  men  in  Australia  have  a  sudden  trick  of  disappear- 
ing," he  si*id.  "  I  think  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  this 
churn  and  partner  of  Vancourt's  met  with -a  somewhat  simi- 
lar death,  or  that  he  died  of  fever,  very  probably  the  latter, 
for  he  was  in  a  very  weak  condition  when  I  last  saw  him,  and 
Arthur  Burton  was  nursing  him  then." 

Lord  Fanworth,  feeling  that  the  subject  was  scarcely  a 
i/icii&uib  one  for  Selby  Layton,  adroitly  changed  it;  the  men 
sat  for  a  little  while  over  their  port  and  then  went  into  the 
drawing-room  where,  of  course,  Selby  Layton  was  asked  to 
sing  and  play :  equally,  of  course,  he  did  both  remarkably 
well;  for  the  man  was  an  artist,  and  jour  artist  can  rise  su- 
perior to  any  circumstance,  whin  he  is  pushed. 

Now,  while  he  was  singing,  Harry  Coverdale,  who  was  font? 
of  music,  was  beating  time  with  his  foot;  but  he  was  watching 
Selby  Layton's  face  and  on  his  own  was  an  expression  of  curi- 
osity and  something  like  distrust  which  mingled  rather  comic- 
ally with  the  expression  of  admiration  for  the  singing.  Selby 
Layton  had  sung  two  songs,  but  good-naturedly  was  going 
back  to  siug  the  third,  when  a  footman  entered  the  room  and 
approached  him  hesitatingly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  murmured,  apologetically; 
"  but  there's  a  man  in  the  hall  who  wishes  to  see  you.  I've 
told  him,  sir,  to  send  up  a  message  or  to  call  in.  the  morning; 


288  EOVE,  THE  TYKANT. 

but  he  refuses,  and  as  he  says  that  you'd  be  certain  to  3B0 

him  and  wouldn't  like  him  to  be  sent  away — " 

Selby  smiled  good-naturedly. 

"  What  is  his  name?"  he  asked. 

"  He  won't  give  any  name,  sir,"  said  the  footman,  "  He 
says  he  comes  from  Van  court." 

Selby  Layton  turned  to  Lady  Fanworth. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me?"  he  asked.  "  Esther  may  have 
sent  a  message,  and  the  foolish  fellow  probably  declines  to 
deliver  it  to  any  other  hand." 

He  followed  the  footman  into  the  hall,  but  could  see  no 
one. 

"  He's  waiting  in  the  small  hall,  sir,"  explained  the  foot- 
man, and  he  led  Selby  Layton  down  the  passage  into  it.  The 
outer  doc:*  *vas  open  and  a  man  was  leaning  against  the  side, 
and  in  the  dim  light  Selby  Layton  saw  that  it  was  Dick  Reeve. 
His  nerves  had  been  rather  cruelly  strained  that  day  and  he 
felt  angry. 

"  What  do  you  want,  my  man?"  he  demanded.  "  This  is 
not  the  hour  nor  the  place  in  which  you  should  ask  to  see  me. 
Why  did  you  not  send  up  a  message  by  the  servant?" 

Dick  Eeeve  waited,  watching  until  the  footman  >iad  disap- 
peared and  the  baize  door  of  the  passage  had  closed  behind 
him;  then  he  lowered  his  eyes  to  Selby  Lay  ton's  face,  and 
said,  hoarsely,  as  if  Selby  Layton's  rebuke  were  of  no  im- 
portance: 

"  Well,  what  news,  what  have  you  found  out?" 

Selby's  anger  increased.  It  was  evident  that  the  man  had 
been  drinking;  it  was  equally  evident  that  he  meant  to  be  in- 
solent. He  had  not  changed  his  lounging  attitude;  his  blood- 
shot eyes  scanned  Selby  Layton's  smooth  face  with  a  half- 
threatening,  half -contemptuous  stare. 

"  My  good  fellow,  you  forget  yourself,"  said  Selby.  "  Yon 
should  have  waited  until  I — " 

Dick  Reeve  straightened  himself  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
Selby  Layton's  shoulder. 

"  I  want  your  answer,"  he  said;  "  I've  come  here  for  it. 
I  heard  that  you'd  come  back,  and  I  waited.  You  didn't 
think  it  worth  while  to  come  and  tell  me,  so  I  come  here  after 
you.  Now,  out  with  it!  Have  you  found  her?  Where  is 
she?  Is  she  with  him?  Quick!  I'm  on  fire,  I'm  burning,  I 
tell  you!  Quick!" 

Selby  Layton  wrenched  his  shoulder  away  from  the  man's 
3,  and  warm  with  anger  and  indignation,  retorted: 
"  don't  know  bv  what  right  you  Question  me.  I  do  not 


LOVE,  TEC  TYBASi;  239 

fetiow  that  I  have  any  right  to  answer  your  question.  You 
y.re  not  the  girl's  brother  or  any  relation.  Her  father  is  the 
only  man  who  has  the  right  to  ask  me  such  questions,  the 
only  person  to  \vhom  I  should  give  any  information.  I  have 
no  more  to  say  to  you.  ~¥ou  had  better  go  back  to  Vancourt; 
aud  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  not  drink  any  more  to- 
" 


Dick  Reeve's  flushed  face  was  contorted  by  an  ugly  smile. 
He  regarded  Selby  Layton  in  silence  for  a  moment,  as  if  paus- 
ing from  an  inability  to  make  up  his  mind;  words  seemed  to 
tremble  on  his  lips,  words  which  he  kept  back  as  if  by  an 
effort. 

"  Come  on  :">w,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  mockery  of 
persuasiveness,  '*  you  know  how  fond  I  was  of  her;  just  tell 
me  the  truth." 

Selby  Layton  drew  himself  up  and  shook  his  head  reso- 
lutely. 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing,"  he  said.  "  You've  no  right  to 
ask;  you  are  extremely  insolent  —  it's  like  your  impudence  to 
follow  me  here,  to  annoy  me  —  and  I  see  no  reason,  not  a  sin- 
gle reason,  why  I  should  humour  you.  Her  father  is  the 
person  —  " 

Dick  Reeve  lurched  slightly,  and  his  hand  fell  upon  Selby 
Laytou's  shoulder  aud  gripped  it,  this  time  too  tightly  to  be 
shaken  off. 

"  You  don't  know  no  reason?"  he  said,  thrusting  his  head 
forward  so  that  his  hot  spirituous  breath  burnt  on  Selby  Lay 
ton's  smooth  face.     "  You  don't  know  no  reason?    S'pose  1 
give  you  one.     One  good  'un,  a  wopper:  eh?    Well,  I  will* 
But  not  here.     Cume  —  come  outside. 

He  twisted  Se.lby  Layton's  slight  figure  round  and  drew 
him  into  the  open  air.  It  was  pitch  dark.  Selby  Layton, 
being  a  coward,  began  to  fear  for  his  safety,  and  he  opened 
his  mouth  to  call  for  assistance;  but  Dick  Reeeve  clapped  his 
hand  over  the  mouth  and  whispered  something  in  Selby  Lay- 
ton's  ear;  something  that  struck  him  motionless  for  an  in- 
stant, then  sent  him  staggering  against  the  wall,  as  if  he  had 
been  smitten  with  a  sudden  and  deathly  faintness. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SELBY  LAYTON  leant  against  the  wall,  his  hands  pressing 
against  it  for  support,  his  breath  coming  in  laboured  gasps, 
and  his  eyes  distended  wi  th  the  terror  caused  by  Dick  Reeve's 
Whispered  words.  For  a  moment  or  two  the  dsathlv  faintness 


290  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT, 

overwhelmed  him  and  rendered  him  incapable  of  speech,  at 
most  of  though^  and  Dick  Reeve  watched  him  with  a  hall- 
contemptuous,  half-malicious  smile. 

"  It's  rather  took  you  by  surprise,  ain't  it?"  he  said,  with 
something  between  a  hiccough  and  a  laugh.  "  You've 
changed  your  mind  about  telling  me  about  Kate,  eh?  Out 
with  it — where  is  she?" 

Selby  Lay  ton  straightened  himself  and  passed  his  handker- 
chief over  his  lips  which  were  livid  and  quivering.  He  looked 
round  him,  from  side  to  side,  very  much  as  a  rat  looks  when 
it  is  driven  into  a  corner.  The  door  through  they  had  come 
was  open,  one  of  the  servants  might  pass  at  any  moment  and 
see  and  hear  them.  He  made  a  sign  to  Dick  Reeve  to  follow 
him,  and  went  into  the  shrubbery  close  at  hand. 

Dick  Reeve  lurched  after  him,  and  Selby  Layton,  sinking 
into  an  old  seat  which  had  been  removed  from  the  garden, 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  forced  smile. 

"  I  can  understand  your  anxiety  to  obtain  news  of  your 
sweetheart,  Reeve;  and  I  should  have  relented  and  given  you 
the  information;  there  was  no  occasion  for  the  invention  of 
the  absurd  fairy  tale  which  you  have  concocted — " 

Dick  Reeve  dropped  on  to  the  seat  beside  him  with  an  inso^ 
lent  laugh. 

*'  That's  how  you  take  it,  mister,  is  it?"  he  said.  "  Well, 
you  can  take  it  as  you  like,  it's  all  one  to  me.  I  was  there, 
and  I  saw  you;  and  what's  more  I  heard  every  word  that 
passed  betwixt  you."  He  nodded  significantly  and  confiden- 
tially. "  Where's  my  Kate,  and  is  he  with  her?" 

But  Selby  Layton  could  give  no  thought  to  Kate  Transom 
in  this  moment  of  peril  and  dread. 

"  You  say  yon  saw — "  he  stammered  out  with  an  affect* 
tion  of  banter  and  amusement. 

Dick  Reeve  spat  ostentatiously  and  nodded  again. 

"  Yes,  I  was  there,  I  tell  you.  I  was  in  the  woods  when 
the  strange  chap  came  into  them,  and  it  struck  me  that  he 
was  after  something,  that  he  wasn't  only  walking  through 
'em;  so  I  followed  him  to  the  pool,  keepin'  out  of  sight,  and 
1  knew  that  he  was  watchin*  for  some  one.  Then  presently 
I  heard  you.  And  I  saw  yon  coming  along,  sly-like  as  you 
tnought,  and  I  knew  it  was  you  he  was  waiting  for  and  that 
you  was  going  to  meet  him.  It  was  only  natural  that  I  should 
feel  curious  like  as  to  what  was  up  between  you,  and  why 
you,  a  gentleman  from  the  Towers,  should  meet  a  stranger  in 
Vancourt  Woods,  wasn't  it?  and  so  I  crept  quite  close — you 
very  nearly  heard  me  one  time,  and  I  was  so  near  that  I 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  291 

could  have  almost  touched  you  when  you  stooped  for  the 

gun— " 

Selby  Layton  covertly  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  white  face. 

"  It  was  a  neat  knock,"  said  Dick  Reeve.  "  I  didn't  know 
as  a  weak  kind  of  cove  like  you  could  have  managed  it;  but  I 
suppose  it  caught  him  in  the  right  place,  and  the  second  blo\r 
settled  him:  hadn't  a  chance,  had  ne,  you  taking  him  from 
behind?" 

Selby  Layton  forced  a  laugh. 

"  And  do  you  imagine  that  anyone  would  believe  this  cock- 
and-bull  story,  Reeve?  Don't  you  think  they  would  be  more 
ready  to  suspect  another  person?" 

Dick  Reeve  glanced  at  him  contemptuously. 

"  What  other  person?"  he  asked. 

"  Yourself,  for  instance,"  said  Selby  Layton,  with  am  as* 
sumption  of  er'J.iess. 

Dick  Reeve  lauded  hoarsely. 

"  Me?    Why  ahouli  I  kill  the  chap?" 

Selby  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Why  should  I?"  he  retorted. 

Dick  Reeve  spat  again. 

"  'Cos  he  knew  too  much  about  you,  mister,"  he  replied, 
"  and  could  spoil  your  game,  by  splitting  about  your  missus— 
I  tell  \ou  I  heard  every  word,  and  what's  more — look  here!" 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  dragging  out  the  photo- 
graph, the  pen,  and  the  piece  of  paper,  held  them  up  and 
shook  them  in  Selby  Lay  ton's  face. 

Selby  Layton  could  not  go  whiter  than  he  already  was,  and 
he  suppressed  the  shudder  which  ran  through  him  at  sight  of 
the  articles  he  had  been  mad  enough  to  leave  behind  him. 

"  My  good  fellow,  you  are  actually  in  possession  of  the  dead 
man's  property,  and  you  do  not  see  why  you  should  be  sus- 
pected! Grant  that  I  met  this  man,  this  unknown  stranger, 
that  a  conversation  took  place,  which  you  say  you  overheard, 
that  I  bribed  the  man — why  should  you  not  have  murdered 
him  after  I  left  him,  killed  him  for  the  money  which  I  had 
given  him?" 

Dick  Reeve  started  and  looked  at  his  companion's  face, 
Been  only  dimly  in  the  darkness.  Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
his  face  flushed  with  passion. 

"  You're  a  cool  hand,  mister^"  he  srid,  with  a  oath.  "  But 
you  don't  scare  me  with  that'  Why,  I've  got  the  gun  at 
home  you  did  it  with!" 

"  There  you  are  again!"  said  Selby  Layton,  almost  good* 
humourouly.  "  Your  gun!" 


292  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 


Not  my  gun;  it's  that  hound  Gtauaft*" 
Dick  Eeeve. 

Set  by  Lay  ton  started  and  peered  at  him. 

"  Gordon's?" 

"  Yes!    I  found  it  —  found  it  down  the  wen.     When 
went  off  and  we  didn't  know  what  had  happened  to  &:..„  J 
thought  of  the  well,  thought  she  might  have  slipped  h 
got  a  rope  and  went  down  by  myself  without  anyone  kno^r 
but  she  wasn't  there  —  but  the  gun  was  —  cute  of  you  to  d 
it  in  that  old  well!  —  and  if  I  hadn't  been  hunting  for  Ea<o 
and  thought  of  it,  it  might  have  stayed  there  till  the  enJ  f 
time." 

Selby  Layton  still  picked  at  his  lips  as  if  lost  in  speculation, 

"  I  didn't  put  it  there,"  he  said,  almost  to  himself. 

Dick  Reeve  sneered. 

"  Tell  chat  to  the  judge  and  jury,  when  you  go  before 
*em,"  he  remarked. 

"  No,  I  didn't  put  it  there,"  he  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  placed  it  against  the  tree,  as  you  saw  me,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  coolness  which  startled  Dick  Reeve,  "  and  I  have  not 
seen  it  since.  The  man  to  whom  it  belonged  must  have  car- 
ried it  away.  Why  did  he  throw  it  down  the  well?" 

Dick  Reeve  was  silent  a  moment  or  two,  then  he  jerked  up 
his  head. 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care;  that's  your  business,  Mr. 
Layton.  What  I  care  about  is  Kate.  Are  you  going  to  an- 
swer my  question,  and  tell  me  whether  you've  found  her,  or 
am  I  to  walk  into  the  house  behind  us  here  and  tell  'em  what 
I  saw  and  heard  in  the  Vancourt  Woods.  Out  wi'  it.  I'm 
in  no  mood  for  more  palaver.  Have  you  found  her,  or 
haveu't  you?  If  not,  I'm  going  to  London  to  search  for  Vc 
myself  —  " 

"  I  have  found  her,"  said  Selby  Layton. 

Dick  Reeve  leant  forward,  his  breath  coming  fast  and 
thickly. 

"  And  —  and  —  is  she  wi'  him?" 

Stlby  Layton  nodded. 

"  She  is  with  the  man  Gordon  —  " 

Dick  Reeve  uttered  a  fearful  oath  and  stretched  uui  'iis, 
closed  hand  with  a  ferocious  gesture. 

"  I  thought  it!  I  knew  it!"  he  muttered,  hoarsely.  "  I'll 
follow  them!  I'll  have  his  heart's  blood  —  " 

His  passion  was  so  great  that  it  choked  his  utterance  for  a 
moment;  then,  with  a  string  of  oaths,  he  turned  on  Seiby 
Layton  fiercely. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  293 

"  Curse  you!  why  didn't  yon  come  and  tell  me?  What  did 
you  keep  me  waiting  for?  I've  lost  time — they'll  be  off — he'll 
escape  me!  Where  is  he?  Where  shall  I  find  them?  Lon- 
don's a  big  place — tell  me  quick!  I'll  kill  him,  if  I  have  to 
swing  for  it!" 

Selby  Layton  leant  his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  was  silent  fof 
a  moment;  then  he  said,  very  quietly: 

"  They  are  living  in  a  street  called  Chase  Street.  It  is  a 
shoemaker's  shop — " 

"  Tell  me  slowly — here,  write  it  down-— curse  the  darkness! 
Come  to  the  light!" 

Sr-Iby  Layton  laid  a  hand  on  Reeve's  arm. 

"  No,  no;  stay  where  you  are.  Chase  Street."  He  re- 
peated it  several  times.  "  I  will  tell  you  how  to  get  there;  I 
will  give  you  the  money  for  your  journey,  and  I  will  give  you 
some  good  advice  also,  Eeeve — " 

"  Curse  your  advice!  But  I'll  take  your  money.  You  and 
me,  mister,  will  have  to  talk  over  money  matters  when  I've 
finished  with  the  man  who's  taken  my  Kate  from  me." 

Selby  Layton  took  some  gold  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"  Here  is  some  money  for  your  journey  and  expenses,"  he 
said.  "  As  to  any  further  sums,  we  can  arrange,  as  you  say. 
I'm  willing  to  buy  those  things  from  you — not  because  I'm 
afraid  of  being  charged  with  the  murder,  but  because  they  are 
of  value  to  me.  I  shall  give  you  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds 
for  them — not  one  penny  mere — " 

Dick  Eeeve  had  risen  and  was  buttoning  up  his  rough 
coat. 

"  Afterwards — afterwards!"  he  said,  hoarsely,  impatiently. 
"  I  can't  think  of  anything  now  but  Kate  and  the  man  that's 
ruined  her.  The  black-hearted  scoundrel!" 

Selby  Layton  regarded  him  musingly. 

"  You  want  your  revenge,  Reeve?"  he  said. 

Dick  Reeve  uttered  a  icrocious  oath. 

"  Aye:  and  I  mean  to  have  it,  if  I  go  to  the  gallows  for  it!" 

"Ah,"  said  Selby  Layton,  smoothly;  "  that's  weak  and 
foi!ish.  Instead  of  going  to  the  gallows,  Reeve,  why  net  send 
this  fellow  Gordon  there?" 

"  Eh?"  said  Reeve,  pausing  as  he  was  going  c,r:l  looking 
over  his  shoulder  at  Selby  Layton. 

Selby  nodded  impressively. 

"  Don't  you  see?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  '*  You  made  a 
mistake  that  night,  my  good  fellow.  Strange!  because  we 
are  not  very  much  alike;  he  is  taller  and  broader  than  I  am; 
but  still,  at  night  it  is  easy  to  mistake—" 


294  WJVE,  THE  TYBANT. 

Dick  Reeve  came  back  to  him. 

"  "What  are  you  talking  about?"  he  asked,  impatienu,. 
•'  Who  did  I  mistake  you  for?" 

"This  fellow  Gordon!"  said  Selby  Lay  ton.  Then  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  Dick  Reeve's  arm  and 
gripj)ed  it  tightly  with  each  word.  "  Don't  you  see?  Gordon 
was  in  the  wood  that  night:  he  disappeared,  left  Vancourt 
suddenly  and  with  scarcely  a  word  to  anyone;  you  found  his 
gun  in  the  well — you  overheard  him  talking  to  the  stranger, 
but  have  held  your  tongue  because  you  yourself  were  poach- 
ing at  the  time.  You  see?  You  want  your  revenge,  you  are 
ready  to  risk  getting  hanged  for  it:  take  your  revenge  by 
hanging  him!" 

Dick  Reeve  stood  and  glared,  as  if  the  idea  were  slowly 
filtering  to  his  brain;  then  he  threw  up  his  head  and  his  black 
eyes  gleamed  savagely. 

"that's  good!"  he  said,  in  a  thick  whisper.  "  That's 
good!  You're  cuter  that  I  thought  even,  mister!  Yes;  Gor- 
don's the  man!  I  swear  I  saw  him  do  it!  It  was  him,  nofc 
you!  Now,  then,  where's  my  Kate?  Tell  me  once  more!" 

Selby  Layton  told  him  how  to  get  to  Chase  Street. 

"  But  hold  your  tongue  about  the  murder,  for  the  pres- 
ent," he  said.  "  Wait  till  I  give  you  the  word — follow  my 
directions  and  I  will  give  you  the  sweetest  revenge.  Hush! 
There  is  some  one  coming!" 

He  rose  as  he  whispered  the  caution,  and,  in  a  louder  voice, 
said: 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  your  distress,  my  man,  and  I  will 
eee  what  can  be  done  for  you.  Good-night!" 

After  Dick  had  gone,  Selby  Layton  remained  for  a  minute 
or  two  with  his  hands  pressed  to  his  head.  He  was  in  deadly 
peril,  but  there  was  just  the  chance  that  with  Dick  Reeve's 
aid  he  might  shift  the  charge  of  murder  on  to  Gordon.  There 
would  be  no  necessity  to  charge  him  with  it  unless  the  pool 
were  drained  and  the  body  found;  but  if  they  were,  if  the 
crime  were  brought  to  light,  then  Gordon  must  be  sacrificed. 
He  went  back  to  the  drawing-room 

"  It  was  a  man  from  Vancourt — a  man  named  Dick 
Eeeve,"  he  said  to  Lord  Fanworth.  "  The  poor  fellow  is  in 
great  trouble  at  the  loss  of  his  sweetheart — you  remember  tha 
case — the  fellow,  Gordon,  you  know?  I  gave  him  some 
money  to  take  him  to  London.  He  seemed  to  have  some- 
thing else  on  his  mind — I  could  scarcely  make  out  what  it 
was,  and  he  checked  himself  in  the  midst  of  an  incoherent 
account  of  something  mysterious  he  had  seen;  it  is  evident 


B0VE,  THE  TYRAOT.  295 

poor  fellow  is  thrown  off  his  balance  by  his  sweet- 
heart's desertion  of  him." 

He  said  this  with  a  grave  air  of  sympathy  which  made  a 
very  favourable  impression  upon  the  Fan  worths;  and  Harry 
Coverdale  wondered  if  he  had  mentally  done  Mr.  Selby  Lay- 
ton  an  injustice.  The  next  day  but  one  they  went  over  to 
the  Towers  to  dine  as  had  been  arranged,  and  Lord  Fanworth 
presented  his  nephew,  with  an  explanation  of  his  sudden  and 
unexpected  arrival  and  an  apology  for  bringing  him  to  the 
Towers.  Esther  was  **  taken  "  by  the  handsome  and  boyish 
young  fellow — in  some  strange  way  he  reminded  her  of  Jack 
Gordon — and  Harry  Coverdale  immediately  conceived  a  liking 
for  the  young  girl  who  had  so  romantically  come  into  the 
Vancourt  pn-perty. 

Before  dinner  was  announced  they  had  become  something 
like  friends;  and  he  was  wondering  why  she  looked  so  pale 
and  what  the  touch  of  subdued  silence  meant  in  her  beautiful 
eyes;  he  also  noticed  that  no  light  of  love  and  pride  dispelled 
the  melancholy  when  she  looked  at  or  spoke  to  Mr.  Selby 
Layton,  the  man  to  whom  she  was  engaged,  who  hovered 
about  them  as  if  he  were  inclined  to  be  jealous  of  her  suddea 
friendship  with  the  young  man. 

Harrv  Coverdale  was  very  amusing  during  dinner,  partly 
because  he  could  not  help  it,  and  partly  because  he  wanted  to 
make  his  beautiful  young  hostess  smile;  and  he  succeeded, 
Esther  felt  brighter  than  she  had  done  since — since  Jack 
Gordon  had  gune. 

After  dinner,  when  the  gentlemen  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  Harry  Coverdale  went  straight  to  Esther  and  began  to 
tell  her  some  of  his  adventures  and  experiences;  and  pres- 
ently he  brought  in  Australia.  She  turned  to  him  directly 
with  increased  interest. 

"  Anything  about  Australia  interests  me,"  she  said;."  for 
though  I've  not  been  there  I  am  somewhat  closely  connected! 
with  it.  You  know  the  story  of  Sir  Richard's  nephew  and 
heir,  the  young  man,  who  would  have  inherited  all  this  if  he 
had  lived?  He  was  murdered,"  she  added  in  a  low  voice, 
"  soon  after  his  uncle's  death,  and  so  I  came  into  the  prop- 
erty." 

"  I  know:  I  have  heard,"  he  said. 

"  Then  again,"  she  went  on  in  a  still  lower  voice,  "  I  had 
a  brother  out  there;  he  died  some  time  ago;  so  that  Australia 
IB  a  fateful  country  for  me." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Harry  Coverdale,  with  his  frank 
young  sympathy  for  this  beautiful  young  girl,  sole  mistress  of 


296  LOVE,  THE  TYEANTi' 

the  vast  Vancourfc  property.  "  I  was  talking  to  Mr.  Selbf 
Layton  &nd  my  uncle  of  the  strange  coincidence  by  which  I 
became  acquainted  with  Sir  Richard's  nephew.  He  was  called 
Arthur  Burton  then." 

He  told  her  the  story  of  the  claim  he  had  bought  of  the 
two  men,  and  spoke  of  "  Arthur  Burton  "  with  the  same  en» 
ihusiasm  he  had  displayed  when  discussing  the  matter  at  the 
Fan  worths'  table. 

"  It  is  a  thousand  pities  he  didn't  live,"  said  Esther,  with 
a  sigh.  "  From  what  you  say  of  him  he  would  have  made  a 
magnificent  master  of  Vancourt,  and  would  no  doubt  have 
been  so  superbly  happy;  while  I — " 

"Don't  say  that  you  are  not  happy!"  he  said,  leaning 
nearer  to  her. 

She  tried  to  smile,  but  her  under-lip  quivered  and  the  long 
lashes  swept  b^r  cheek. 

"  I  have  some  photographs  of  Australian  scenery  which  my 
brother  sent  over  to  me,"  she  said.  "  Would  you  like  to  see 
them?" 

He  said  at  once  and  eagerly  that  he  should,  and  she  went; 
to  her  room  and  brought  down  a  small  card-board  boz  con 
taining  the  usual  photographs. 

"  Oh,  I  know  most  of  these  places,"  he  said,  as  they 
turned  them  over  together.  "  That  is  Wally  Ford;  and  that 
is  Three  Streams;  and  that  is  Digger's  Dump;  and  that — " 
He  broke  off  and  picked  up  the  photograph  of  a  man,  a 
young  and  delicate-looking  man  in  the  ordinary  digger's  suit. 
Why,  I  know  that  man!"  he  exclaimed.  "  That's  the  man 
who  was  with  Sir  Richard's  nephew,  Arthur  Burton.  I  for- 
get this  man's  name;  he  was  Arthur  Burton's — that  is  of 
course — Vancourt's — great  chum;  Vancourt  nursed  him 
through  ever  so  many  illnesses.  I  can't  recall  his  name!" 

Esther  regarded  him  in  silence;  her  face  had  grown  a  little 
paler. 

"  I  wish  I  could  remember,"  said  Harry  Coverdale.  '*  Let 
me  think!  It  was — .  No,  I  can't  remember.  Yes,  I  can! 
It  was  Jack  Gordon!" 

Esther  did  not  start,  bat  the  colour  rushed  to  her  face  and 
her  hands  went  in  search  of  the  chair,  for  she  was  startled, 
greasy  startled. 

"  Are  you  sure?"  sh-3  asked. 

"  Quite  sore,"  responded  Coverdale.  **  I  knew  them  both 
well;  I  am  as  sure  as  I  am  of  my  name,  now  that  I  have  re- 
membered it." 

"  And ¥Qt  TOO  «w  mistaken,' '  she  «HiYT  vorv  ouiatlv;  *'  thai 


IOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

fe  a  portrait  of  my  brother,  and  he  died  nearly  two  years 
ago.'f 

Harry  Coverdale  looked  at  her  with  surprise  and  a  gravity 
that  grew  intense.  Then  he  carried  the  photograph  to  a  light 
and  examined  it  closely,  and  came  back  and  stood  beside  her 
r.'ith  bent  head  and  pursed  lips.  After  a  moment  he  looked 
at  her.  and  said : 

"Miss  Vancourt,  I  am  one  of  those  men  who  never  make 
a  mistake  in  a  face.  If  this  is  the  portrait  of  your  brother,  I 
saw  him  alive  just  after  Christmas  and  he  was  in  the  com- 
pany, he  was  the  chum,  of  Arthur  Burton,  that  is  young 
vancourt.  He  was  the  man  who  was  with  him  when  he  was 
BLiuiJered." 

Esther  sank  into  a  chair  and  looked  up  at  him  overwhelmed 
by  wonder  and  conjecture. 

"  But  we  heard  that  my  brother  died  a  year  before  that." 

Coverdale  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,"  he  said.  "  tiook  at  that  arm;  take 
this  magnifying  glass.  What  is  that  on  the  arm?  It  is  a 
tattoo  mark.  I  have  seen  that  tattoo  mark  on  the  arm  of 
Jack  Gordon  any  number  of  times.  I  might  be  misled  by  a 
chance  likeness,  but  it  is  too  improbable  that  your  brother 
should  be  like  the  man  I  know  and  that  he  should  have  a 
similar  tattoo  mark.  I  am  afraid  I  startled  you — I  ain  always 
so  :ndden  and  abrupt!  Pray,  pray  forgive  me!" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  said,  faintly.  Her 
heart  was  beating  so  fast  that  she  could  scarcely  breathe;  for 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  on  the  threshold  of  some  mys- 
tery. The  name,  Jack  Gordon,  might  only  be  a  coincidence: 
there  might  be  hundreds  of  Jack  Gordons  in  the  world  and 
many  in  Australia;  and  yet  -  The  very  sound  of  the  name 
had  set  every  nerve  in  her  body  thrilling. 

"  Can  you — can  you  tell  me  what  young  Vancourt — Arthur 
Burton,  as  he  called  himself — was  like?"  she  asked,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  Harry  Coverdale  stood  near  her,  watch- 
mg  her  gravely  and  with  manly  sympathy. 

"  I'll  try,"  he  said.  "  He  was  tall,  over  six  feet,  broad- 
sho?i"dered,  but  thin  and  lithe;  rather  dark  than  fair,  with 
dark  eyes.  He  had  rather  an  abrupt  and  short  way  of  speak- 
ing, and  a  deep  voice;  his  manner  was  a  little  devil-may-care" 
ish." 

Esther's  breath  came  faster. 

"  Was  there  no  mark  on  the  face,  anything — P* 

Coverdale  though  for  a  moment. 

f  *  T;iC>  rnlv  mark  I  can  remember  was  a  scar  on  bis  chest 


198  LOVE,  THE  TYRAJTt 

just  beneafo  bis  neck —  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Van* 
court?"  for  Esther  had  utteied  a  low  cry,  too  low  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  others  in  the  room,  and  had  sunk  back  in 
her  chair  as  if  she  had  received  a  shock. 

"  And  you  are  sure  that  this  Arthur  Burton,  whom  you 
describe,  was  Sir  Richard's  nephew?" 

"  I  am,"  he  replied,  gravely;."  as  I  told  you,  I  discovered 
him  by  chance,  by  borrowing  his  match-box.  There  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  have  lied  to  me;  in  fact,  Arthur  Burton 
was  incapable  of  lying.  Here  is  the  match-box,"  he  took  it 
out  of  his  pocket  and  held  it  out  to  her. 

Esther  took  it  and  looked  at  the  name,  John  Vancourt, 
ecratched  on  it;  then  she  looked  up  at  Harry  Coverdale's  face 
with  a  doubt  that  was  piteous  in  its  intensity. 

"  Will  you  let  me — may  I  keep  this  for  a  little  while?" 
she  asked. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  be  so  gracious  as  to  accept  it, 
Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said;  "  though  I  value  it  as  a  memento 
of  a  good  fellow  who  was  killed,  it  must  naturally  be  of  a 
deeper  interest  to  you.  Please  keep  it." 

She  thanked  him  with  her  eyes;  then  she  put  her  hands  to 
her  forehead. 

"  Who  was  killed?"  she  murmured,  in  a  strained  voice,  as 
if  she  were  bewildered. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  Poor  fellow!  I  little  thought 
when  I  was  buying  the  claim  that  I  should  never  see  him 
again,  that  he  would  so  soon  meet  such  a  tragic  fate." 

"  Yes — of  course — he  was  killed,"  murmured  Esther,  as  if 
she  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  saying.  "And  my  brother 
was  with  him?  Oh,  I  cannot  think,  my  brain  is  in  a  whirl!" 
She  rose,  then  dropped  back  again. 

Coverdale  was  very  much  distressed  by  her  emotion. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  murmured  in  a  low  voice.  "  Of 
.course  I  can  see  what  is  agitating  you — the  thought  that  your 
brother  may  still  be  alive." 

Esther  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  had  almost  a  wild  ex- 
pression In  them. 

*'  No — I  don't  know!  I  cannot  think— -cannot  see  my 
way.  It  is  all  dark  and  confusing  and  bewildering."  She 
looked  up  at  him  again  suddenly.  **  Yon  are  staying  at  Fan- 
worth — you  are  not  going  yet?" 

"  I  was  going  to-morrow,"  he  said;  "  but  there  is  no  par- 
ticular reason  why  I  should,  and  I  will  stay.  If  I  can  be  of 
any  use  to  you,  if  I  can  answer  any  questions,  if  there  is  any- 
thing that  I  can  do  for  you,  however  slight,  you  will  send  for 


THE  TYEAIfT.  299 

me,  Miss  Vanconrt?  No,  I  will  not  wait  for  that — I  will 
oome  over  to-morrow;  perhaps  by  that  time  you  may  have 
thought  of  some  question  you  would  like  to  ask  me;  and 
meanwhile  I  will  try  and  remember  everything  I  can  about 
your  brother  and  Arthur  Burton — " 

"  You  mean  Jack  Gordon?"  said  poor  Esther,  conf  used!)-. 

Tle  looked  at  her,  himself  confused  for  a  moment. 
;  No:'  that  was  your  brother's  assumed  name,"  he  said. 

At  that  moment  Lord  Fanworth  came  over  to  them  to  ask 
her  to  beg  a  song  of  Mr.  Selby  Layton.  She  went  to  Selby 
Layton,  who  was  standing  talking  to  Lady  Fanworth,  but 
who  had  been  watching  Esther  and  Coverdale  covertly. 

"  Will  you  sing?"  she  asked,  and  her  voice  was  constrained 
and  almost  toneless. 

"  Certainly,  dearest,"  he  responded;  "  but — are  you  ill, 
faint?  You  look  quite  white!" 

!<  No,  no;  it  is  nothing!"  she  said.  "  Please  go  and  sing." 

When  he  had  gone  to  the  piano  she  went  to  the  window, 
and  opening  it,  drew  a  breath  of  the  cool  night  air,  and  it 
brought  her  strength  with  which  to  vanquish  the  faintness 
which  had  assailed  her. 

After  Selby  Layton  had  sung  his  song,  the  Fan  worths'  car- 
riage was  announced,  together  with  the  dog-cart  in  which 
Selby  Layton  and  Harry  Coverdale  had  driven  over.  Before 
leaving,  Selby  Layton  endeavoured  to  get  a  few  minutes  alone 
with  Esther;  but  she  eluded  him  in  the  subtle  way  in  which 
women — even  the  most  guileless  of  them — are  so  proficient. 
But  just  as  the  party  were  going,  she  left  Harrv  Coverdale's 
side  and  went  up  to  Selby  Layton  as  he  was  putting  on  his 
overcoat. 

"  What  is  the  address  at  which  you  say  you  saw  Kate  Tran- 
som?" she  asked. 

Sf.lby  Lay  ton  paused  with  one  arm  in  his  coat,  and  turned 
nis  face  to  her  with  a  lock  of  surprise,  and  with  the  peculiar 
twist  in  his  lip. 

"  No.  16  Chase  Street,  East,"  he  said.  "  But  why  do  you 
ask,  dearest?" 

"  I  thought  that  I  should  like  to  know,"  she  said,  gravely. 

"  Let  me  beg  yon  not  to  worry  yourself  about — about  the 
girl,"  he  murmured.  "  She  is  not  worth  a  thought  of  yours. 
&ood-night,  my  beloved." 

She  responded  to  his  fervent  adieu  with  a  grave  "  Good- 
night!" and  when  the  carriages  had  driven  away  she  went  on 
to  the  terrace  and  paced  up  and  down,  her  brows  knit,  and 
sometimes  with  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  The  night  was  not 


uOO  HOVE,  THE  TYEAITfi 

too  warm,  but  she  felt  burning  hot,  for  her  brain  was  tort* 
nred  by  the  problem  which  Harry  Coverdale's  communication 
had  set  her. 

Had  her  brother  been  alive  when  Arthur  Burton  died?  If 
so,  where  was  he?  Why  had  he  not  come  forward  and  given  a 
full  account  of  Arthur  Burton's  death?  How  did  it  come  to 
pass  that  her  brother  and  the  man  who  had  acted  as  Martin's 
foreman  bore  the  same  name,  Jack  Gordon?  How  was  it  that 
Harry  Coverdale's  description  of  John  Vancourt  tallied  ex- 
actly with  that  of  the  Jack  Gordon  whom  she  knew,  the  man 
who  had  won  her  heart  and  kissed  her,  the  man  who  had 
gone  off  with  Kate  Transom?  Such  an  involved  problem 
would  have  been  too  much  for  a  cuter  and  keener  brain  than 
Esther's;  it  kept  her  tossing  to  and  fro  in  her  bed,  and  was 
with  her  when  she  went  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
pale  and  harassed-looking.  Suddenly  she  said  to  Miss  Worces- 
ter, who  was  cackling  over  last  night's  dinner-oarty,  and  sing- 
ing everybody's  praises  in  her  enthusiastic  fashion: 

"  Aunt,  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to  London  to-day;  can  yon 
be  ready  in  time  to  catch  the  ten-thirty  train?" 

"  My  dear  Esther!"  exclaimed  Miss  Worcester,  dropping 
her  toast  and  staring  at  Esther's  pale  face;  but  Esther  broke 
in  upon  any  expressions  of  surprise  and  possible  questions. 

"  I  have  to  go  up  on  business,  aunt,  unexpectedly.  We 
will  put  up  at  one  of  the  hotels;  I  shall  not  need  to  be  away 
for  longer  than  one  night." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  Esther,  if  you  must  go!  But  does 
Selby  know?" 

Esther  frowned  slightly;  she  had  almost  forgotten  the  man 
to  whom  she  was  engaged. 

**  Scarcely,"  she  replied,  "  seeing  that  I  myself  have  only 
known  it  within  the  last  few  minutes.  I  am  sorry  to  hurry 
you,  auntie,  dear;  but  we  shall  have  to  be  quick.  I  must 
catch  that  train." 

As  they  were  getting  into  the  brougham,  attended  by 
Palmer  and  quite  a  bevy  of  servants,  Esther  turned  to  Palmer, 
and  said: 

"  If  Mr.  Coverdale  should  come  over  to-day,  please  tell 
him  that  I  have  had  to  go  to  London  on  business,  and  that  I 
hope  I  shall  see  him  before  he  leaves  Fan  worth." 

*  And  what  message  are  yon  going  to  leave  for  dear 
Selby?"  whispered  Miss  Worcester,  with  a  simper;  but 
Esther  affected  not  to  hear  the  sentimental  suggestion,  and 

the  brougham  drove  off. 

*****,** 


,  TEE  TTSAHT.  301 

That,  evening  as  Jack  was  driving  home  from  his  work,  he 
was  asking  himself  seriously  the  question  which  had  sprung 
into  his  mind  while  he  and  Kate  Transom  had  been  sitting 
under  the  tree  in  Victoria  Park.  Several  times  that  day  ifc 
had  recurred  to  him  and  haunted  him,  just  as  a  neglected 
duty  haunts  and  bothers  one:  hadn't  he  better  marry  Kate 
Transom,  who — who  seemed  to  care  a  little  for  him,  take  her 
but  to  Australia,  forget  Esther  and  Vanconrt  Towers,  and  be 
— be  happy?  Every  time  he  asked  himself  the  question,  com- 
mon sense  replied  coldly,  "  Yes;"  then,  almost  in  the  same 
breath,  something  within  his  heart  rose  and  whispered  re- 
proachf  ully,  ' '  No !  Of  all  the  mean  things  a  man  can  com- 
mit, there  is  none  meaner  and  more  despicable  than  to  marry 
one  woman  while  he  is  in  love  with  another."  And  what  be- 
tween his  heart  and  his  common  sense,  Jack  was  pretty  con- 
siderably worried,  and  his  step  was  not  so  light  as  usual,  nor 
his  face  so  cheerful  as  was  its  wont,  as  he  pushed  open  the 
Jialf  door  and  entered  the  sitting-room. 

Mordy  Jane  was  getting  his  tea,  and  as  she  bundled  her 
father  into  a  corner,  so  that  she  might  lay  the  cloth,  she  eyed 
Jack's  pensive  face  with  magpie  scrutiny. 

"  You  look  as  if  you'd  fairly  got  the  'ump,  Mr.  Gordon!" 
she  said.  "  An'  I  dessay  you  'ave.  Serve  yer  right,  too.; 
why  don't  yer  get  married,  like  a  sensible  man?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  am  waiting  for  you,  Mordy  Jane,"  said 
Jack.  "  Of  course,  I've  long  known  you've  marked  me  for 
your  own,  and  I'm  just  waiting." 

"  That's  what  the  empty  pie-dish  said  to  the  rabbit!"  said 
Mordy  Jane,  with  a  sniff.  "  But  you've  got  to  ketch  yer 
rabbit  before  yer  makes  yer  pie;  an'  I  ain't  gpin'  to  be  caught 
for  ever  so  long.  I've  seen  too  much  of  marriages  to  be  eager 
for  it  myself;  besides,  I  should  want  a  man  with  some  brains; 
an'  you  don't  appear  to  be  troubled  with  too  many." 

"  You're  quite  right,  Mordy  Jane!"  assented  Jack,  with 
the  cheerful  humility  which  always  disarmed  the  young  vixen. 
"  How  is  Kate  this  evening?  I've  not  seen  her  for  two  days." 

"  That's  your  fault  and  your  misfortune,  too,"  retorted 
Mordy  Jane.  "  I  dessay  you  would  have  seen  her  for  the 
asking.  She  has  gone  out  for  a  little  walk,  jest  to  try  her 
pins,  with  Miss  Woods;  an*  I  tell  yer  she  fetches  the  whole 
Street—" 

'•  Who,  Miss  Woods?"  asked  Jack,  densely. 

"  No;  stoopirl-'ead,"  said  Mordy  Jane,  eyeing  him  scorn- 
fully. "  Kate,  o'  course.  I  tell  >er  she's  a  stunner;  she's 
AS  puffectiv  lovelv  as  the  orals  vou  sea  in  th«  inat.  vow  of  the 


302  LOVE,  THE 

bally  at  the  theatre;  an'  mind  yon,  they  puts  all  the  fast- 
class  'uns  there.  If  I  was  a  man  an'  that  gal  lived  in  the 
same  'ouse  with  me,  I'd  up  an'  marry  'er  if  I  'ad  to  'ire  a 
coach-an'-four  an'  a  couple  o'  brigands  to  carry  'er  off.  But 
there,  some  men — I  don't  mention  no  names,  'cos  I've  been 
properly  brought  up — is  as  blind  as  they're  silly,  an'  don't 
know  a  pretty  gal  when  she's  right  under  their  nose.  There! 
go  and  clean  yerself,  an*  come  down  and  get  yer  tea;  though 
it  do  seem  a  pity  to  me  sometimes  to  waste  good  vittles  upon 
sich  a  six-footed  idiot." 

Jack  went  meekly  upstairs,  not  feeling  quite  sure  that  he 
didn't  deserve  Mordy  Jane's  trenchant  abuse;  and  while  he 
was  gone  Miss  Woods  and  Kate  Transom  returned.  The 
sight  of  them  inspired  Mordy  Jane  with  what  she  called  an 
"  hidea,"  and  winking  and  motioning  to  Miss  Woods  to  go  on 
upstairs,  she  drew  Kate  Transom  into  the  little  room,  and 
pushing  her  into  a  chair,  remarked: 

"  You're  going  to  have  a  cup  o'  tea  before  you  climb  them 
stairs,  Kate,  so  take  off  y«r  'at  an'  undo  that  shawl." 

"  Thank  you — but  I'm  sitting  in  Mr.  Gordon's  chair," 
murmured  Kate. 

"  No,  you  ain't,"  retorted  Mordy  Jane.  "  These  chairs 
belongs  to  me;  never  you  mind  where  you're  sittin'  'Ere's 
yer  tea  and  there's  a  piece  o'  'ot  toast —  Oh,  yet  needn't 
look  at  it  in  that  shy  way;  it  ain't  Mr.  Gordon's;  leastvr.iys, 
there's  plenty  more  for  Mm." 

Kate  blushed  and  leant  back,  and  presently  Jack  came 
flown.  The  light  which  always  shone  in  her  eyes  at  his  ap- 
pearance shone  there  now,  and  the  delicate  colour  rose  to  her 
face,  heightening  its  beauty. 

"  Halloo,  Kate!"  said  Jack,  with  just  the  slightest  touch 
of  embarrassment,  for  the  question  was  still  hammering  at 
his  mind.  *'  Glad  to  hear  you've  been  out  again,  ana  to  see 
you  looking  so  much  better.  Thank  you,  Mordy  Jane." 

He  took  his  tea  and  was  going  to  seat  himself  upon  the 
bench,  but  Mordy  Jane  gave  him  a  slight  shove  towards  the 
chair  next  Kate's. 

"  Do  sit  down  and  keep  your  long  legs  out  of  my  way!" 
she  said;  "  not  as  they'll  oe  in  my  way  long,  for  I'm  goin* 
out  with  father  to  see  him  pay  Ms  supscribshion  to  the 
hautumn  Goose  Club;  'cos  I'm  goin'  to  tell  Mr.  Swobs,  th« 
landlord  as  'olds  it,  that  I  ain't  a-going  to  'ave  one  like  what 
we  'ad  last  Christmas,  which  I  should  say  was  fed  on  shavin'f 
and  cement.  Jb'atber  and  me  was  so  exhausted  trying  to  cvt 
it  up  that)  we  was  too  tired  to  eat  our  puddJB'-" 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  '303 

She  tied  the  preposterous  bonnet  under  her  chin,  found  a 
dilapidated  tall  hat  for  her  father,  jammed  it  on  his  head 
well  over  one  eye,  and  calling  to  him  to  fullow  her,  bounced 
out. 

Jack  sat  drinking  his  tea  and  munching  his  bread  and  butter 
and  staring  at  the  fire;  and  Kate  leant  back  in  her  chair  out- 
wardly calm,  though  the  faint  flush  was  still  upon  her  cheeks, 
but  inwardly  thrilling  with  his  nearness.  He  glanced  at  her 
presently  and  was  struck,  as  Chase  Street  apparently  was,  by 
her  beauty;  but  it  awakened  only  cold  admiration  which  is 
the  opposite  pole  to  love.  Presently  she  broke  the  silence, 
and  looking  at  him,  said: 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  Miss  Woods;  I  have  been  asking 
her  if  she  could  get  me  a  situation  like  hers,  or  some  work  to 
do  such  as  she  does;  but  she  said  '  No '  and  seemed — fright- 
ened; yes,  as  if  she  were  frightened  by  my  asking  her.  1 
must  get  something  to  do,  Mr.  Gordon,"  her  voice  shook,  her 
hands  twisted  together,  and  she  turned  her  head  away.  *'  I 
cannot  go  on  living  like  this  a  burden  on  you — living  on 
charity —  I  cannot  bear  it  any  longer — " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  he  knew  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

*'  Don't  talk  about  being  a  burden,  Kate,"he  said;  "  as  1 
said  the  other  day,  you'd  do  the  same  for  me,  for  any  friend, 
who  needed  your  help.  But  I'm  glad  you  spoke,  for  other 
reasons.  I'm  thinking  of  going  out  to  Australia — " 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly  with  an  expression  on  her  face 
as  if  she'd  forgotten  about  h«rself  and  all  her  thoughts  were 
concentrated  on  him.  „ 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad,  glad,  glad!  You  will  go  at  once — ah, 
you  will  go  at  once!" 

Jack  was  rather  puzzled  by  her  intense  earnestness,  but  he 
nodded  gravely. 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  stay,  or  why  I 
should  not.  But,  Kate,  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  as  well, 
and  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

She  flushed. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  about  me,"  she  said  in  a  low,  quick 
voice.  "  I  can  hide  here  in  London,  and  no  one  can  find  me; 
and  if  they  found  me,  they  could  not  force  me  to  speak,  ti 
utter  a  word.  I  would  die  first — and  you  know  it." 

Jack  felt  still  more  puzzled  and  confused  by  her  manner 
and  speech,  but  he  went  on,  with  his  purpose  held  straight 
before  him. 

"  I  was  wondering,  Kate,  whether  you-d  like  to  come  ojtt 
to  Australia,"  he  said;  "  to  go  out  with  me." 


304  LOVE,  THE  TYBA1TT. 

The  colour  slowly  ebbed  from  her  face  and  she 
him  with  a  strange  look  in  her  large  eyes. 

"  With  you!"  she  repeated  in  a  low  voice 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  leaning  forward  and  half  unconsciously 
laying  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "  See  here,  Kate;  I've  been 
thinking  about — about  you  and  me;  about  what  is  to  become 
of  you  if  I  make  a  bolt  of  it;  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion 
that — I'm  going  to  surprise  you,  Kate,  perhaps  make  you 
angry — hut  we're  old  friends,  so  to  speak,  you  and  I,  and — " 

At  this  moment  a  boy's  head  wearing  a  peaked  cap,  with  a 
gold  "  Hotel  Metropole  "  around  the  band,  appeared  above 
the  door-way,  and  a  shrill  voice  belonging  to  the  owner  of  the 
head  demanded  ia  Cockney  accents: 

"  Does  Mr.  Gordin  live  here?" 

Jack  rose — alas!  not  sorry  for  the  interruption. 

"  That's  my  name,"  he  said. 

"  'Ere's  a  letter  for  yer,"  said  the  boy.    "  Await  answer.** 

The  paraffin  lamp  had  not  been  lit.  Jack  went  outside  and 
looked  at  the  address  on  the  envelope,  and  his  heart  gave  a 

Seat  leap,  for  he  saw  that  it  was  in  Esther's  handwriting, 
e  tore  open  the  envelope  and  found  a  short  note  inside; 
simply  this: 

"  I  wish  to  see  you.  Will  you  come  to  me  at  once?  En- 
quire  for  Room  260.  E.  V." 

For  a  moment  Jack  stood  stock  still  in  amazement;  then 
the  blood  rushed  through  his  veins  and  his  heart  leapt  with 
joy.  She  was  near  him,  in  London,  within  a  cab  drive! 
Would  he  go  to  her!  He  strode  back  to  Kate  and  caugb.i;  up 
his  cap.  She  roee  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voicr.  qvr  mr- 
ing  with  anxiety. 

'*  I'm — I'm  going  somewhere  on  business,"  stammered 
Jack. 

"  On  business?"  Her  face  went  white,  her  hand  clasped 
his  aim.  "  Oh,  be  careful,  pray  be  careful,  it  may  be  a 
trap!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  terrified  whisper. 

Jack  stared  at  her  as  if  confused;  then  he  laughed  awk- 
wardly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right.  I  must  go  I  I'm  sorry — no,  I  mean 
yes,  I  must  go!" 

The  boy  had  a  cab  waiting,  and  Jack  bundled  him  in  and 
followed,  telling  the  cabman  to  drive  like  the  devil.  When 
they  reached  the  Metropole,  he  strode  into  the  vestibule,  en* 
quired  for  No.  260.  and  was  taken  to  a  luxurious  room  on 


LOVE,  THE  TYBJLKT.  305 

tt»9  flrsj  doer,  jit  was  empty,  a  shaded  lamp  w£i  burning  on 
a  side  table;  it  was  the  only  light  in  the  room.  Jack  looked 
round  impatiently;  and  presently  the  door  opened  and  Esther 
entered.  His  heart  leapt  at  sight  of  her,  but  he  could  only 
look  at  her,  could  only  wait  for  her  to  speak,  noticing,  as  his 
eyes  rested  on  her,  how  pale  she  was,  how  fixedly,  sadly, 
searchingly  those  sweet,  beautiful  eyes  gazed  into  his. 
bsd  ehe  sent  for  him? 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

ESTHER  had  paused  outside  to  try  and  still  the  beating  of 
her  heart;  she  meant  to  be  quite  calm;  not  only  to  seem  but 
to  be  reaily  indifferent  to  that  subtle  influence  of  his  presence 
which  had  gained  such  power  over  her;  but  as  she  saw  him, 
noting  witn  a  woman's  quick  eye  the  rough,  well-worn  serge 
suit,  the  tauned  hands  which  plainly  bore  the  marks  of  heavy 
labour,  the  nandsome  face  with  its  brows  knit  with  uncer- 
tainty, a  touch  of  anxiety  and  yet  a  kind  of  eager  gladness, 
her  heart  began  to  throb  again  and  she  found  it  difficult  to 
maintain  an  appearance  of  calm. 

She  was  in  evening  dress,  a  dress  of  black  silk  and  lace, 
without  a  single  ornament  to  relieve  it,  and  her  white  skin 
looked  dazzling  against  the  soft,  sombre  shades.  Her  loveli- 
neso  filled  Jack  with  a  delight,  with  a  longing  that  was  an 
ecstasy  of  pleasure  and  pain  at  one  and  the  same  moment. 
Sho  motioned  to  a  chair,  but  Jack  declined  it  with  a  gesture 
and  they  both  stood,  looking  at  each  other;  with  seeming 
coldness  in  her  eves  and  with  a  earnest,  anxious  appeal  in  his. 
At  last  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  was  low  and  steady  though 
her  heart  was  beating  thickly,  tumultuously. 

"  It  i«;  good  of  you  to  come  so  quickly,  Mr.  Gordon,"  she 
said. 

JacK  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly. 

"  Why,  of  course!"  he  said.  "  I  came  at  once — is  any- 
thing  the  matter?" 

She  paused  a  moment. 

"  No.  I  wanted  to  ask  yon  a  few  questions.  I  beg  you  to 
answer  them  without — without  equivocation,  however  strange 
they  may  seem  to  you." 

"  Of  course  I  will!"  responded  Jack.  "  Is  anything  wrong 
1own  at  Vancourt — with  the  farm?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  some  Questions  about — Australia,"  she 
said. 


306  WVK,  THE  TYEAUT. 

Jack*s  escrows  went  ap  for  a  second,  bnu  He  answertd 
steadily  enough. 

"  Certainly!" 

"  Were  you  at  a  place  called  Wally  Ford?"  she  asked. 

Jack  hesitated  for  just  a  second,  then  he  said  simply: 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  know  a  man  named  Arthur  Burton?"  she  asked. 

Jack  looked  at  her,  and  his  face  set,  so  to  speak,  as  if  he 
Were  suddenly  throwing  himself  on  his  guard. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Was  he  not  a  friend,  what  you  call  a  chum,  of  yours?" 

"  Yes;  1  knew  him,"  replied  Jack. 

"  When  did  you  see  him  last?"  asked  Esther. 

"  The  day  he  died,"  replied  Jack.  "  I  was  with  him  when 
he  was  killed.  He  died  " — his  voice  grew  husky — "  he  died 
in  time  to  save  my  life." 

She  started.  There  was  a  chair  near  her  and  she  felt  for  it 
with  her  hand  and  sat  down. 

"Will  you  explain,  will  you  tell  me  the  whole  story?"  she 
asked. 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  anxiety  and  pity. 

"  Certainly;  it  is  soon  told.  He  and  I  were  chums,  were 
camping-out  together."  He  stopped  and  regarded  her  with 
a  frown  of  perplexity.  "  Why  do  you  ask  me  these  questions 
— how  did  you  know — " 

She  looked  down. 

"  I  will  tell  you  presently.  You  have  promised  to  answer 
my  questions.  Go  un,  please." 

"  We  were  camping  together;  one  night  we  were  attacked 
by  bushrangers;  he  was  Si,  dying.  I  was  overpowered  and 
bound;  one  of  the  scoundrels  was  about  to  shoot  me,  my 
friend  flung  himself  from  the  bed  and  in  front  of  me,  and  re- 
ceived the  bullet  which  I  ought  to  have  got.  He  saved  my 
life  at  the  cost  of  his  own." 

She  seemed  to  see  the  whole  scene,  her  face  went  white, 
and  her  eyes  closed  for  a  moment;  then  she  opened  them  and 
fixed  them  on  him. 

"  What  was  Arthur  Burton's  real  name,  Mr.  Gordon?"  she 
asked. 

Jack  was  silent  for  a  moment  under  the  direct  gaze  of  those 
lovely  eyes,  appealing  to  him  for  the  truth;  he  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  keep  up  the  lie,  and  yet  it  must  be  kept  up. 

"  His  name  was  John  Vancourt,"  he  said,  sternly.  He  ex- 
pected her  to  start  and  utter  an  exclamation;  but  she  re- 
mained perfectly  silent,  the  beautiful  eyes  regarding  him 


LOVE,  THE  TYRAOTl  307 

Steadily.  -*  A  letter  was  found  in  his  coat.  "  continued  JacL. 
"  A  letter  addressed  to  him  in  his  assumed  name,  Arthur  Bur- 
ton; the  police  found  it  and  were  thus  able  to  identify  him." 

Her  lips  quivered. 

"  That  is  not  true,"  she  said. 

Jack  started. 
I — I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  stammered.     "  What  did  you 


"  I  say  it  is  not  true!"  she  said.  ;<  Why  have  you  told  this 
falsehood,  acted  this  falsehood?" 

"  I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  faltered. 

She  took  something  from  her  pocket  and  held  it  in  her 
closed  hand  while  she  looked  him  m  the  face;  then  her  hand 
unclosed  and  the  silver  match-box  fell  softly  on  the  table, 
and  she  pointed  to  it. 

"  To  whom  does  that  belong?"  she  asked. 

Jack  took  up  the  match-box  and  looked  at  it. 

"  How  did  you  come  by  it?  It  belonged  to  Jack  Vancourt 
— that  is,  Arthur  Burton — " 

"  And  you  are  Sir  John  Vancourt,"  said  Esther,  leaning 
forward,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  shining. 

Jack  made  a  fight  for  it. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  his  eyes  raised 
for  a  moment  and  then  dropping. 

"  Look  at  the  name  scratched  on  the  match-box, "  she  said. 
"  and  now  look  at  this."  She  took  a  paper  from  her  pocket; 
it  was  the  account  of  his  expenses  in  London,  which  he  had 
given  her  in  the  cottage.  He  had  written  her  name  on  the 
top,  and  she  pointed  to  the  word  "  Vancourt,"  and  then  to 
the  similar  word  on  the  match-box.  "  The  same  hand  wrote 
both  these  names,"  she  said.  "  Why  do  you  try  any  longer 
to  deceive  me?  I  know  the  truth.  Do  you  know  a  gentle- 
man called  Coverdale?" 

Jack  dropped  into  a  chair  and  leant  his  head  on  his  hand, 
so  partially  covering  his  face,  and  Esther  went  on. 

"  I  have  met  Mr.  Coverdale.  He  knew  you  and — and  the 
man  who  died.  You  gave  Mr.  Coverdale  that  match-box; 
you  admitted  to  him  that  you  were  John  Vancourt;  he  de- 
scribed you  to  me,  described  you  so  exactly  that  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  identify  you.  You  are  John  Vancourt — I  beg 
your  pardon,  Sir  John  Vancourt — Sir  Richard's  nephew  and 
neir,  the  owner  of  Vancourt  Towers." 

Jack  rose  and  looked  at  her,  half  penitently,  half  defiantly. 

"  Bowled  out!  Yes,  I'm  afraid  the  game's  up,  Miss  Van- 
court!  You  haven't  left  me  a  leg  to  stand  upon.  You've 


°S  DOVE.  THE  TYBATTT. 

got  the  case  is  clear  as  if  you  were  a  lawyer     Bn;   I'm 
sorry — " 

She,  top,  and  risen  and  stood  regarding  him  with  heaving 
bosom,  with  lips  that  quivered  and  eyes  that  were  dim  with 
the  tears  that  were  welling  up  in  them. 

"  All  last  night,  ever  since  I  knew,  while  I  only  guessed,  I 
have  been  asking  myself  why  you  have  done  this  thing,  why 
you  have  plaved  this  trick  upon  me.  Even  now  I  can  only 
vaguely  surmise — I  do  not  quite  know.  If  you  feel  the  least 
remorse  for  what  you've  done,  if  you  have  any  pity  and 
friendly  regard  for  the  girl  you  have  so  cruelly  deceived,  you 
will  explain,  you  will  tell  me  the  whole — why  you  did  it,  what 
was  your  motive — " 

Jack  ihrust  his  hands  in  his  pocket  and  paced  up  and  down 
with  bear  head,  gnawing  at  his  moustache.  Then  he  stopped 
in  front  of  her  and  looked  at  her  with  the  doggedness  of  a 
man  driven  to  bay. 

"  What  else  could  I  do?"  he  asked,  almost  fiercely.  "  Miss 
Vancourt,  the  man  who  saved  my  life,  who  laid  down  his  life 
for  me,  was  my  friend  and  chum.  A  little  while  before  he 
died  he  told  me  a  story  of  his  life;  he  told  me  about  his  little 
sister;  how  he  had  left  her  in  poverty  to  work  for  her  living, 
to  fight  the  world — a  young  girl  with  no  man-relative  or 
friend  to  help  her.  Almost  while  he  was  telling  me,  and 
knowing  that  he  was  dying,  asking  me  to  find  her  and  help 
her  for  his  sake,  he  read  in  a  newspaper  I  had  brought  from 
the  settlement  the  news  of  Sir  .Richard's  death  and  the  fact 
that,  if  his  nephew  were  not  alive,  this  girl  would  come  into 
the  property,  would  step  from  poverty  to  wealth.  And  at 
that  very  moment  I  had  a  letter  from  Floss  &  Floss  telling 
me  I  hat' I  was  Sir  Eichard's  heir.  Before  I  could  recover 
from  my  surprise,  could  pluck  up  courage  to  tell  him  who  I 
was  and  dash  his  hopes  for  his  little  sister,  we  were  attacked. 
He  gave  his  life  for  me,  and  I — what  else  could  I  do  but  keep 
my  promise  and  befriend  the  girl  he  had  entrusted  to  my 
care?" 

Esther  stood  with  her  hands  clasped  tightly  and  pressed 
against  her  bosom. 

"  The  man  was  your  brother,  the  girl  was  yourself.  Wheff 
the  police  broke  in  I  was  unconscious.  They  found  the  letter 
on  your  brother — I  had  put  my  jacket  on  him.  It  was  easy 
to  say  that  he  was  Arthur  Burton,  easy  for  me  to  take  the 
name  he  bore— Jack  Gordon — instead  of  my  own.  The  thing 
was  done  in  a  minute;  but  if  I'd  had  a  month  to  think  it 
over  I'd  ha-ve  done  the  same." 


LOVB,  THE  TYBAHT. 

'*  Yon  were  wrong,  wrong,  wrong!*'  she  breathed. 

"  I  was  right,  right,  right!"  he  retorted,  almost  angrily, 
and  striking  the  table  with  his  hand.  '  Your  brother  had 
entrusted  you  to  my  care,  he  had  given  his  life  for  me:  could 
I  go  back  on  him?  No!  No  man  could  be  such  a  hound." 

Esther  shook  her  head. 

"  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice 
you  have  made,  Mr.  Gordon — I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  John 
vancourt — " 

"  Couldn't  you  go  on  calling  me  Mr.  Gordon?"  said  poor 
Jack  "  It  sounds  more  natural,  and  I  should  answer  up  to 
it  better  than  to  Vancourt." 

"  No,  you  are  Sir  John  Vancourt.  You  had  no  right  to 
relinquish  your  name.  I  know  the  sacrifice  you've  made. 
You  came  and  worked  on  the  estate  which  belonged  to  you; 
you  must  have  felt  that  the  wretched  girl  whom  your  mis* 
taken  generosity  had  placed  in  possession  of  it,  was  a  usurper 
and  a  fraud;  even  you  must  have  begrudged  her — " 

Jack  broke  in  quickly. 

"  You  are  quite  wrong,  I  give  you  my  word.  I  never  be- 
grudged you  the  estate  for  a  single  second.  When  I  saw  yon 
queening  it  there,  so  young  and  graceful,  so  beautiful — er — I 
beg  your  pardon!  I  mean,  when  I  saw  how  well  you  filled 
the  place  I  was  jolly  glad  I  had  done  what  I  had." 

"  I  cannot  believe  it,  you  must  have  been  unhappy." 

"  Don't  you  make  any  mistake,"  said  Jack,  ruefully.  "  I 
was  never  half  so  haopy  in  my  life.  And  now  I  suppose 
you're  going  to  knock  it  all  over?" 

He  almost  groaned. 

"  If  you  mean,  am  I  going  to  surrender  the  estate  to  you; 
I  certainly  am,  at  once,  as  quickly  as  possible,"  said  Esihsr, 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Well,  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  wouldn't!"  he  said.  "  Look 
here!"  he  said,  as  if  an  idea  had  struck  him,  "  couldn't  wa 
make  a  compromise,  couldn't  you  keep  where  you  are  and 
make  me  an  allowance?  I'll  go  over  to  Australia — " 

Esther's  face  flamed. 

"  You  talk  like — as  if  I  were  an  idiot,"  she  said,  indig- 
nantly, "Why  should  I  live  on  yonr  charity,  Sir  John  Van- 
court?  Why  should  you  want  me  to  do  so? 

Jack  took  two  turns  up  and  down  the  room,  then  he  came 
beside  her. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know?"  he  asked.  "  Then,  by  George^ 
I'll  risk  it  and  tell  you!  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  that  I 
didn't  feel  the  sacrifice  I'd  made,  especially  when  I  first  came 


310  LOVE,  THE  TYKAET. 

back  from  England  and  caught  sight  of  the  Towers;  tftft 
when  I'd  met  you,  when  I'd  seeii  more  of  you,  I  didn't  feel  it 
a  little  bit!  1  was  perfectly  happy  working  there  at  the  farm, 
und  I  should  have  stayed  there,  until  you  sacked  me,  if  I 
hadn't  behaved  to  you  like  a  bounder  that  night — you  remem- 
ber?" 

His  face  grew  red  and  hers  flamed,  and  her  eyes  became 
suddenly  heavy. 

"  I  suppose  you've  often  wondered  why  I — I  played  the 
madman  and  kissed  you  that  night?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  It 
was  for  the  same  reason  that  I  was  so  happy,  so  contented  to 
.go  on  living  just  as  your  servant;  it  was  because — I  loved 
you,  Esther." 

She  did  not  start,  she  stood  perfectly  still,  and  she  raised 
her  eyes  slowly  and  looked  at  him. 

"  There,  it's  out  now!"  he  said.  "  I  loved  you.  I  think 
I  must  have  loved  you  the  first  time  I  saw  you — well,  per- 
haps not  the  first  time,  but  precious  soon  afterwards.  I'd 
never  been  in  love  before,  and  I  didn't  quite  understand  it  at 
first;  but  though  I  fought  against  it — for  of  course  I  couldn't 
speak  to  you,  that  would  have  been  playing  it  too  low  down, 
and  getting  the  estate  back  in  a  kind  of  underhand  way — my 
heart  ached  to  do  so.  I  often  wondered  you  didn't  see  it.  It 
seemed  to  me  every  time  I  looked  at  you,  you  must  have  seen 
'  I  love  you '  staring  out  of  my  eyes.  Do  you  remember  the 
day  when  you  went  with  me  to  notch  the  trees?  I  think  that's 
the  first  day,  the  first  time  I  knew  for  dead  certain  that  you 
were  the  only  woman  I  should  ever  want.  You  dropped  your 
handkerchief,  I've  had  it  ever  since;  I  had  it  in  the  wood 
that  night  I  lied  to  you;  it  was  not  Nettie's  but  yours.  I 
wouldn't  swop  it  for  all  Vancourt." 

He  took  it  out  of  his  pocket  now,  and  showed  it  to  her. 

Esther  held  out  her  hand:  it  trembled.  But  Jack  shook 
his  head,  and  calmly  returned  the  pocket-handkerchief  to  its 
old  hiding-place. 

"  I  couldn't  speak  then;  but  I  can  now.  Esther,  I  love 
you!  Forgive  me  for  the  trick  I  played  on  you,  if  trick  you 
can  call  it.  Be  my  wife.  Of  course,  I  don't  expect  you  to 
care  for  me — not  yet,  that  is;  but,  if  you'll  let  me,  I'll  try 
and  win  your  love.  I  love  you  very  dearly;  I'd  never  have 
said  a  word  if  you  hadn't  found  out  the  truth  and  given  the 
show  away;  but  I  can  speak  now,  and — and —  Won't  you 
come  to  me,  Esther?" 

He  held  out  his  arms,  and  Esther  would  have  given  several 
worlds  to  have  been  able  to  creep  into  them;  but  she  stood 


LOVE,  THS  TYRANT.  311 

8nd  looked  at  mm  with  a  look  of  trouble  and  almost  indigna- 
tion in  her  lovely  eyes.  His  arms  dropped  to  his  side,  and  ha 
sighed. 

"  I  was  afraid  that  would  be  your  answer.  I  suppose  you 
can't  care  for  me,  and  never  could."  He  paused  a  moment 
and  looked  at  her.  "  You're  not  saying  *  no  '  because  you've 
got  some  foolish  notion  that  I'm  doing  this  so  that  you  might 
keep  the  estate?" 

"  No,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  The  man  who  could  be 
capable  of  such  a  sacrifice  as  you  have  made  would  not  be  so 
— mean  as  to  again  attempt  to  deceive  a  helpless  girl.  No, 
Sir  John  Vancourt,  that  is  not  the  reason;  there  is  another — 
others." 

"  What  are  they?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Selby  Layton." 

Jack's  face  went  white. 

"  Oh — ah — yes!"'  he  gasped,  trying  to  look  as  if  he  were 
not  badly  hit.  "  I — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  know. 
He's — he's  a  decent  chap.  Engaged  to — "  He  gnawed  at 
his  moustache.  "  What  was  the  other  reason? — not  that  it 
matters;  this  one  is  good  enough!" 

Esther  looked  at  him  steadily,  her  brows  drawn  straight 
across,  her  breath  coming  painfully. 

"  That,  if  you  are  not  already  married  to  Kate  Transom, 
it  is  right  that  you  should  be,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly. 

Jack  started,  and  his  face  grew  crimson. 

"  Married  to  Kate — !  What  the — !  I  beg  your  pardon. 
What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?  Only  right  I  should 
be  married  to  Kate  Transom!" 

Esther  turned  away  from  him  slightly,  looking  at  him 
under  half-lowered  lids — the  look  that  hurts  when  it  falls 
upon  a  man  from  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he  loves.  It  stung 
Jack  and  made  him  begin  to  get  wild. 

11  The  truth  is  known  to  me,  Sir  John,"  she  said,  "  I 
know — it  is  well  known — that  she  left  Vancourt  the  same 
night  you  did;  it  is  known — I  knew — that  she  is  with  you 
here  in  London.  I  beg,  I  implore  you  to  be  good  and  true 
to  her.  She  was  a  good,  happy  girl  until  you  came.  I  am 
Bore  you  could  make  her  happy;  I  trust  that  you  will  marry 
her. 

By  this  time  the  Vancourt  temper  was  raging  delightfully 
in  Jack's  breast.  To  hear  that  she  was  engaged  to  Selby 
T«yton  was  bad  enough,  but  to  be  told  by  her  own  lips  that 
he  had  wronged  Kate  Transom  and  solemnly  charged,  by  her 
own  Ujps,  to  marry  Kate,  was  almost  mow.  than,  te  could 


312  I/JVE.   THE  TTEANT. 

stand.    The  anger  which  was  raging  within  him  flamed 
his  eyes. 

"  Do  you  believe  this?"  he  asked. 

"  How  can  I  do  otherwise?    Do  you  deny  it,  Sir  John?" 

"  No!"  he  thundered.  "  So  you  advise  me  to  marry  KaU 
Transom.  Thank  you  very  much  for  your  advice.  I'll  think 
it  over.  Good-night,  Miss  Vancourt." 

He  snatched  up  his  cap  and  burst  out  of  the  room;  and 
Esther —  Well,  no  woman  needs  to  be  told  what  she  did; 
and  it  is  wonderful  how  she  managed  to  remove  the  traces  of 
her  tears  before  she  went  down  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

JACK  didn't  wait  for  the  lift,  but  went  down  the  broad 
stairs  and  out  into  the  street  like  a  whirlwind.  Practically, 
he  had  never  fully  realised  until  that  moment  how  much  he 
loved  Esther.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  world  had  come  to 
an  etui,  as  if  nothing  mattered,  as  if  indeed  it  was  scarcely 
Worth  living  any  longer.  He  was  about  to  call  a  cab,  but  he 
felt  as  if  he  could  not  sit  in  it,  however  fast  it  was  driven, 
and  he  strode  away  down  the  Embankment,  his  head  burning 
hi.-t,  uis  heart  throbbing  with  a  kind  of  mad  resentment 
against  Fate,  and  a  dull  despair.  Every  now  and  taeu,  at 
imetvals,  he  went  over  the  scene,  and  every  time  he  recalled 
Efcthsr's  speech  about  Kate  Transom  and  the  look  that  ac- 
companied it,  he  drew  a  long  breath  and  ground  his  teeth  and 
took  off  his  hat  to  cool  his  head. 

That  anyone  should  suspect  him  of  betraying  an  innocent 

f'rl,  and  luring  her  from  her  home,  was  bad  enough,  bui  that 
sther  should  do  so,  Esther,  for  whose  opinion  he  cared  more 
;nan  for  that  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  almost  unen- 
a  in  able. 

He  was  just  in  that  condition,  goaded  by  despair,  when 
nisii  do  rash  things;  and  he  felt  almost  driven  to  gu  straight 
to  Kate  Transom  and  finish  the  proposal  which  he  had  com- 
menced when  Esther's  note  had  interrupted  him.  After  alL 
why  shouldn't  he?  Esther  was  lost  to  him  forever;  she 
would  insist  upon  handing  the  estate  over  to  him,  and  he 
would  have  to  go  and  live  at  the  Towers,  where  every  object, 
animate  and  inanimate,  would  remind  him  of  her. 

It  was  a  long  walk  from  the  Metropole  to  Chase  Street,  but 
Jack  did  not  notice  its  length,  would  have  been  rather  glad 
perhaps  il  i£  H«H  haen  twice  as  long;  he  had  w*ut»rl  ouicJsiv. 


•OVE,  THE  TYRAHT.  313 

and  he  was  qmte  surprised,  so  engrossed  had  he  been  by  his 
miserable  reflections,  when  he  turned  into  the  street. 

He  was  striding  along,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head 
sunk  dejectedly,  when  he  heard  someone  running  behind 
him.  He  paid  no  attention,  though  he  noticed  that  the  step 
was  a  light  one  like  a  woman's;  but  suddenly  he  heard  an- 
other noise  coming  from  round  the  corner,  and  a  cry  of 
"  Stop  thief!"  The  same  moment  a  voice  said  close  behind 
lim:  "  Save  me,  for  God's  sake,  save  me!" 

A  woman,  dressed  as  a  widow,  darted  past  him  and  up  the 
alley  in  which  he  had  seen  her  disappear  the  other  night. 
Something  in  the  woman's  voice  struck  him  as  familiar,  and 
while  he  was  asking  himself  where  he  had  heard  it,  a  police- 
man, followed  by  the  usual  small  crowd,  came  running  down 
the  street.  Jack  walked  on,  and  before  he  had  reached  the 
alley,  the  policeman  had  caught  him  up. 

"  Seen  a  woman,  a  woman  dressed  in  black  like  a  widow?" 
askeu  the  constable,  who  was  rather  too  stout  for  sprinting. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jack,  calmly  but  promptly.  "  She  has 
Just  run  down  the  street,  straight  ahead." 

"  Right!"  exclaimed  the  policeman,  and  he  ran  on  fol- 
lowed by  the  crowd.  Jack  slackened  off  and  presently  waited; 
and  he  saw  Miss  Woods  come  out  of  the  court. 

"  Don't  stop  me,"  she  whispered,  huskily,  as  she  passed 
h::n.  "  Let  me  get  inside!" 

Jack  was  too  ast  onished  to  stop  her  or  utter  a  word.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face  and  saw  that  it  was  stone  white. 
He  followed  her  closely,  opened  the  door,  entered  with  her 
Bnd  closed  it.  She  leant  against  the  wall  in  the  passage,  her 
bands  pressed  to  her  heart,  her  breath  coming  in  lab.  ured 
2, asps;  and  Jack  stood  and  stared  at  her  in  silence. 

Suddenly  they  heard  the  crowd  coming  back  up  the  street, 
;r,nd  Miss  Woods,  with  a  subdued  cry  of  terror,  caught  his 
arm  in.  both  hands. 

£*  Hash!  Don't  speak!  Don't  move  or  they'll  hear  us!" 
As  she  spoke,  a  bundle  slipped  from  under  her  arm  and  fell 
at  his  fsst.  She  was  too  terrified  to  attempt  to  conceal  it  or 
recover  it,  but  she  looked  at  it  despairingly  and  uttered  a  low 
cry  of  fear;  for  the  wrapper  had  come  open,  and  Jack  saw 
something  that  looked  like  a  black  dress  and  cape  all  in  one, 
and  a  widow's  bonnet.  The  truth  flashed  upon  him  in  SOL 
instant. 

"  You  are  the  widow;  it's  you  who  play  the  *  picked- 
pocket  '  dodge!  Good  heavens!  There,  don't  faint;  you're 
quite  safe:  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  un." 


314  LOVF,  THE  TYEAUT. 

She  sank  on  tKe  stairs  and  hid  her  face  in  her  band,  sod 
her  flaxen  wig  got  all  awry  and  made  her  look  ghastly,  like  a 
waxen  doll  that  had  lost  the  colouring  in  its  cheeks.  Jacfc 
leant  against  the  wall  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  I  didn't  suspect — you've 
been  so  good  to  Kate —  Good  God!  what  made  you  take  to 
auch  a  life?" 

She  looked  at  him,  with  her  faded  face  all  lined  and  hollow. 

"  Starvation,  misery,  despair,  such  misery  and  despair  as 
you  can't  imagine,  for  you're  a  man  and  can  never,  never 
feel  it.  You  can  never  understand  how  much  a  woman  is 
driven  when  she  has  suffered  as  I  have  done.  Don't  look  at 
me  like  that,  turn  your  eyes  away — I  can't  bear  it,  for  you've 
been  kind  to  me;  you've  thought  well  of  me,  well  enough  to 
trust  me  and — and  believe  in  me.  I  meant  to  drop  it,  but  I 
couldn't  bear  the  thought  that  you  were  working  so  hard, 
that  I  was  a  burden  on  you  as  well  as  her;  and  I'd  spent 
what  money  I'd  had,  and  I  went  out  to-night — for  the  last 
time.  I  meant,  if  I  couldn't  get  anything  to  do — anything — 
anything  honest,  to  throw  myself  into  the  dock — and  I  will!*' 

"  Oh,  no,  you  won't!"  said  Jack  calmly.  "  Go  up  to  your 
room  and  we'll  talk  matters  over  in  the  morning." 

She  shook  her  head,  as  she  listened  intently,  with  terror  in 
every  feature. 

*;  I  can't  go — yet  I'm  all  of  a  tremble.  Kate  might  be 
awake;  she'd  see  me  in  this  state  and  ask  questions — I  should 
break  down." 

"  Stay  here  and  rest  for  a  little  while,"  said  Jack.  "  I'll 
step  out  and  see  if  they've  gone.  Wait  until  I  come  back." 

He  let  himself  out  quietly,  and,  pausing  to  light  a  pipe, 
strolled  in  a  leisurely  way  up  the  street.  The  pursuers  had 
evidently  completely  lost  the  scent,  and  no  one  was  in  sight; 
and  Jack  walked  on  a  little  way  pondering  over  the  discov- 
ery. Now  that  he  had  made  it,  he  was  not  altogether  sur 
prised;  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  not  so  shocked  as  h 
ought  to  have  been.  You  see,  he  had  lived  amongst  some 
very  shady  people;  and  the  predominant  feeling  in  his  mind 
at  the  moment  was  pity  for  the  woman  who  had  been  driven 
to  such  straits.  She  couldn't  be  altogether  bad,  or  she  would 
not  have  nursed  Kate  with  such  unselfish  devotion.  He  stood 
at  the  top  of  the  street  smoking,  in  a  causal  kind  of  way  look- 
ing about  him,  then  he  turned  and  walked  slowly  back.  As 
he  did  so,  a  man  turned  into  the  street,  caught  sight  of  him, 
stopped  dead  short,  then  slid  into  a  door-way.  He  stoorl  there 
Jack  until  he  entered  the  house,  then  in  a  stealthy 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  315 

ho  pztfeotfd  down  the  street,  stopping  at  the  end  to  look 
back  at  the  house.  Presently  he  walked  back  towards  it  and 
raised  his  hand  as  if  to  knock  at  the  door;  but  he  hesitated, 
his  hand  fell  to  his  side,  and  muttering  under  his  breath,  he 
walked  away  again;  but  when  he  had  once  more  reached  the 
end  of  the  street,  he  stopped  as  if  reluctant  to  leave  it.  How- 
eve  „  a  policeman  came  tramping  up,  glanced  at  him  with 
+he  calm,  scrutinising  eye  of  his  calling,  and  the  man  slunk 
away. 

Jack  found  Miss  Woods  still  seated  on  the  stairs.  She  was 
still  very  white,  but  had  regained  something  of  her  self-pos- 
eession. 

"  They've  gone!"  said  Jack.  "  You're  all  right  now; 
you'd  better  go  upstairs." 

She  rose,  assisting  herself  by  the  bannister;  then  she  hesi- 
tated and  looked  at  Jack. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  her 
head  averted.  "  I  know  nothing  I  can  say  would  make  me 
seem  any  better  to  you,  Mr.  Gordon;  but— ^but  it's  true  what 
I  said — that  I've  been  near  starvation,  that  I  only  took  to 
this  when  everything  else  failed.  I  was  a  respectable  woman 
— and  not  so  long  ago — though  it  seems  a  life-time,  looking 
back.  I'm  respectable  in  a  way  now,"  she  said,  with  a  feeble 
and  pathetic  touch  of  pride.  "  I'm  a  married  woman,  Mr. 
Gordon,  and — I've  kept  straight.  I  was  deserted  by  my  hus- 
band. He  got  tired  of  me  soon  after  we  were  married,  and 
he  left  me.  He  said  he  was  obliged  to  go  on  important  busi- 
mess;  he  was  away  some  months,  then  I  heard  that  he  was 
dead.  I  saw  it  in  a  paper." 

A  faint  flush  of  resentment  passed  across  her  faded  face 
and  she  breathed  quickly  as  if  sne  found  it  difficult  to  go  on. 

"  He  left  me  without  a  penny,  left  me  to  face  the  world, 
me  who  had  always  been  taken  care  of,  for  I  was  the  young- 
est in  the  family,  Mr.  Gordon,  and  the  pet.  I'd  a  brother 
who  would  have  helped  me — for  he  was  fond  of  me  in  a  way, 
though  he  was  wild  and  reckless — went  to  Australia;  but  he 
— he  got  into  trouble  there;  and  though  he's  back  in  Eng- 
land, he  can't  do  anything  for  me,  for  he's  poor,  and  I'm 
afraid  he's  don«  .something  out  there,  for  he's  hi  hiding." 
'  You  have  Had  a  bad  time  of  it,"  said  Jack,  gravely. 

"  That  aint  the  worst,"  she  said.  "  My  husband  really 
deserted  me;  he  didn't  really  die,  and  the  notice  in  the  paper 
Was  a  sham  and  a  fraud;  he  is  alive  now." 

Jack  looked  his  surprise. 

"*  How  do  joa  know  that?"  he 


IOVT!,  THE  TYRANT. 

"  I've  seen  him,"  she  said.     "  I  saw  him  the  other  day,,' 
it  was  when  we  came  back  from  the  drive;  he  went  by  in 
hansom  cab;  it  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  street  and  he  leau 
forward  and  looked  at  as;  at  me,  as  I  thought  at  the  time 
but  I  don't  think  he  saw  me;  he  seemed  to  be  staring  at  yr? 
and  Kate." 

"  Why  should  he  do  that?"  asked  Jack.  "  You  must  be 
mistaken.  But  this  is  a  very  extraordinary  story.  Yes — yes; 
I  believe  you.  But  what  do  you  mean  to  do?  Are  you  going 
to  try  and  find  him?  He  must  be  a  bad  lot  and  ought  to  be 
punished;  for  he  seems  to  me  to  have  been  the  cause  of  all 
your  tiouble." 

"  Yes,"  she  said;  "  he  was  the  cause.  He  persuaded  me 
to  marry  him  secretly,  and  I  found  out  before  he  left  me  that 
he  was  right  down  bad,  for  all  his  pleasant  ways  and  soft 
voice.  I'd  try  to  find  him,  but  how  can  I?  He  is  a  jentle- 
man  and  looks  as  if  he  had  money,  and  I  haven't  any.  I 
might  go  to  the  police  if — if — but  I  don't  dare.  I  must  just 
put  up  with  it  and  bear  it." 

"  I  must  see  if  I  can't  help  you,"  said  Jack.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  you;  you  have  been  very  kind  to  Kate  Transom,  and  I'm 
sure  you're  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  I  will  see 
what  can  be  done.  Anyway,  you  must  promise  to  drop  ihia 
sort  of  thing  once  and  for  ail." 

He  glanced  at  the  bundle  which  she  had  under  her  arm. 

She  reddened  with  shame. 

"  There's  no  need  to  promise,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  shall 
never  do  it  again.  I  was  driven  to  it — " 

She  broke  off  with  something  like  a  sob  and  went  upstairs 
dowly. 

Jack  went  up  to  his  room;  but  he  could  not  sleep.  His 
strange  discovery  of  Miss  Woods's  mode  of  living  and  her  ex- 
traordinary story  had  for  a  time  driven  his  own  affairs  from 
his  mind;  but  they  came  back  with  a  rush  when  he  was  alone, 
and  he  spent  the  night  in  pacing  up  and  down  trying  to  form 
some  definite  course  of  action.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to  let  the  Towers,  to  marry 
Kate  Transom  and  take  her  to  Australia:  perhaps  taking 
Miss  Woods  with  them.  He  could  buy  a  cattle  ranch  and  go 
in  for  farming  on  a  large  scale.  But  he  sighed  as  he  thought 
of  it;  for  he  knew  that,  do  what  he  would,  his  life  waa 
wrecked  and  that  he  was  doomed  to  unhappiness. 

When  he  went  down  the  next  morning  he  was  surprised  to 
find  Kate  Transom  in  the  little  sitting-room;  surprised  and 
somewhat  embarrassed;  he  was  also  very  mucn  startled  when 


LOVE,  THE  TYEJLNT.  317 

sne  came  up  to  him  quickly  and,  seizing  his  arm,  stoppec! 
him  on  his  way  to  the  door.  He  saw  that  she  was  pale  and 
agitated;  but  before  he  could  speak  she  made  a  gesture  of 
warning  and  with  her  lips  close  to  his  ear  whispered: 

"  Hush!  There  is  some  one  in  the  street — some  one  has 
been  following  you — I  saw  him  from  the  window  when  you 
cjime  in  last  night;  but  I  could  not  see  in  the  dim  light  who 
it  was.  A  man  with  his  coat-collar  turned  up  has  just  passed 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  he  looked  at  the  house;  he 
is  waiting  at  the  end  of  the  street!" 

Jack  was  dumfounded;  and  for  a  moment  he  really 
thought  that  she  had  gone  out  of  her  mind. 

"  Why  should  a  man  be  following  me?"  he  asked.  ft  H 
anyone  wants  to  see  me,  why  doesn't  he  come  straight  on 
here?  I've  no  objection." 

She  looked  at  him  almost  reproachfully,  as  if  she  were 
grieved  at  his  want  of  trust  in  her. 

"  Don't  go  out;  wait  for  a  little  while!"  she  whispered. 

"  But  why  not?"  he  insisted.  "  I've  no  objection  to  meet- 
ing this  man,  whoever  he  is." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  reckless!"  she  gasped.  "  If  you'd  only 
left  England;  if  you'd  only  gone  at  once!" 

Jack  got  bewildered  by  her  strange  words,  and  to  him 
stranger  manner. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  you  mean,  Kate,"  he  said; 
*"'  and  I  think  you'rs  quite  mistaken  ia  your  idea  that  some 
one  is  watching  me;  but  if  he  is,  he  is  quite  welcome  to  do 
so.  As  to  leaving  England,  I've  almost  made  up  my  mind 
to  go,  and  I'll  tell  you  more  when  I  come  home  to  dinner." 

"  Tell  me  where  you  are  going,"  she  said. 

**  To  the  docks,"  said  Jack.  He  had  promised  the  fore- 
man to  finish  some  work  which  he  had  entrusted  to  him  and, 
notwithstanding  that  he  had  been  bowled  out,  and  his  identity 
discovered  by  Esther,  he  intended  keeping  his  promise  and 
going  down  to  the  docks.  "  I'm  in  Number  2,  F,  dock,  and 
I  shall  be  home  earlier  than  usual  because  I'm  on  a  job. 
Don't  look  so  frightened;  I  can't  imagine  what  you  should  be 
frightened  about." 

She  turned  away  from  him  with  a  womanly  gesture  of 
resignation  to  his  stronger  will,  and  he  heard  her  sigh  hearily 
as  he  left  the  house, 

There  certainly  did  not  appear  to  be  any  watcher  in  the 
street;  but  that  was  because  Dick  Reeve  had  stepped  into  a 
shop,  where  he  waited  until  Jack  had  got  out  of  sight:  then 
be  went  no  tbo  gtreet,  and,  looking  over  the  half  door-way, 


318  WVE,  THE  TYBAOT. 

saw  Kate  Transom  sitting  in  a  low  chair  with  her  head  in  ha* 
hand. 

"  Kate!"  he  said,  huskily. 

She  started  and  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  low  cry  of  fear; 
and  he  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  room. 

"  Dick — Dick  Reeve!"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes;  it's  me,"  he  said,  his  face  working,  his  hands 
clenched  at  his  side,  his  eyes  glowing  like  coals.  "  You 
didn't  expect  to  see  me.  Did  you  expect  I'd  let  you  go  with- 
out a  word,  without  following  you,  without  coming  to  a  reck- 
oning with  Mm?  You  ought  to  have  known  me  better. 
When  I  heard  you'd  gone,  I  swore  I'd  follow  you  and  him  if 
it  was  to  the  end  of  the  world — and  I'm  here." 

She  had  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his  sudden  presence, 
and  was  looking  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  watchful- 
ness in  her  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  she  demanded,  trying  to  speak 
coldly  and  indifferently. 

The  veins  swelled  in  his  forehead. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  want,  except  my  revenge  on  him," 
he  said.  "  And  I'll  have  that " 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  asked: 

"  How  did  you  find  me?    Does  father — ?" 

"  No,  he  doesn't,"  he  said.  "  Never  mind  how  I  found 
you.  I'm  going  to  take  you  back  to  your  father." 

She  shrank  away  from  him. 

"  I  will  not  go." 

He  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Aye,  you  may  well  be  ashamed!"  he  said,  "  but  I  meam 
to  take  you.  He's  not  married  you,  Kate?"  he  asked,  sud- 
denly, hoarsely;  and  he  held  his  breath  waiting  for  her 
answer. 

Kate's  face  flamed,  then  grew  deathly  pale. 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  mean,"  she  said. 

"  It's  a  lie!"  he  said.  "  I  mean  that  hound,  Gordon. 
Spare  your  breath,  I  saw  him  enter  this  house  last  night. 
He  has  just  left  it." 

Kate's  heart  beat  painfully,  the  room  seemed  to  spin  round 
her. 

"  It's  no  use  lying,"  he  said.  "  I've  found  you  both,  here 
together,  and  I'm  going  to  take  you  back." 

"  You  cannot — you  cannot  1"  she  breathed. 

He  laughed  fiercely. 

"  I  can  and  I  vr'llf"  he  said.  He  drew  a  little  nearer  to 
her,  lowering  his  voice  till  it  became  a  hoarse  whisper. 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT.  S19 

**  Listen  to  me,  Kate.  I've  got  him  in  my  power,  and  I've 
only  got  to  speak  a  word — one  word! — and  he's  as  good  as  a 
dead  man.  Eefuse  to  come  with  me,  and  I'll  follow  him—" 

She  stretched  oat  her  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  the  threatened 
danger. 

"  No  more!  Don't — don't  speak  another  word!"  She 
looked  round  as  if  she  were  terrified  lest  they  had  been  over- 
/leard.  "  I  will  come  with  you,  Dick.  I  will  come  at  once." 

He  was  a  little  startled  by  her  ready  acquiescence;  but  he 
nodded  significantly. 

"  Go  and  get  your  things  on,"  he  said;  "  if  you're  not 
down  in  five  minutes,  I'll  come  for  you.  But  you'd  better 
como,  or,  I  warn  you,  it  will  be  bad  for  him." 

She  held  up  her  hand  as  if  to  silence  him,  and  turning, 
went  quickly,  but  with  trembling  steps,  up  the  stairs. 

He  followed  her  to  the  door  and  watched  her  enter  the 
room  above;  then  he  returned  and  paced  up  and  down  the 
sitting-room. 

Kate  staggered  into  Miss  Woods's  bedroom  and  caught  at 
the  bed  to  support  herself;  and  Miss  Woods,  who  had  just 
finished  dressing,  turned  to  her  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Help  me!"  cried  Kate.  "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do!  What 
can  I  do  to  save  him!" 

She  had  no  thought  for  herself. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Miss  Woods.  "Him? 
Who—?" 

Kate  broke  in  upon  the  question  in  a  voice  almost  inaudible. 

"  Mr.  Gordon!  There  is  a  man  in  the  room  below  who — 
who  will  do  him  an  injury.  He  is  in  danger!  Oh,  don't  ask 
me — I  can't  tell  you! — he  is  in  great,  terrible  danger,  and 
this  man  knows  where  he  is,  and  there  is  no  one  to  warn  him, 
no  one  to  tell  him  to  escape!  And  this  man  is  waiting  for 
me,  waiting  now.  If  I'm  not  down  in  five  minutes  he  will 
come  up  here  after  me,  will  force  me  to  go  with  him.  Oh, 
what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do?  If  I  could  only  get  to  him, 
speak  one  word  to  him  to  warn  him,  put  him  on  his  guard! 
I  tried  this  morning,  but  he  would  not  listen;  he  is  too  brave, 
too  reckless,  to  care!" 

She  sank  on  the  bed,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
rocked  to  and  fro. 

Miss  Woods,  almost  as  pale  as  Kate,  stood  looking  at  her, 
as  if  trying  to  understand;  then  suddenly  she  sprang  to  Kate's 
side,  and  caught  her  arm. 

"  Hush!"  she  whispered.  "  Try  and  be  calm!  I've 
thought  of  something — I've  thought  of  something  that  wiJi 


320  WVE,   THE  TYRANT. 

help  you  to  get  away — to  go  to  Mr.  Gordon.  Bat  you'll  want 
all  your  nerve,  and  you're  shaking  like  a  leaf.  I'm  afraid 
you'll  never  do  it!" 

Kate  dropped  her  hands  from  her  face  and  rose. 

"  Yes,  yes!  I  will!  What  is  it?  Tell  me.  Wait!  Give 
me — give  me  some  water!" 

Miss  Woods  ran  to  the  wash-hand  stand  and  pom-ad  oat  a 
glass  of  water  and  brought  it  to  her,  and  while  Kate  was- 
drinking  it,  took  a  bundle  from  a  drawer  and  untied  it. 

"  Quick!"  she  whispered.     "  Put  these  on!" 

Kate  stared  at  her,  and  at  the  black  dress  and  widow's  bon- 
net; then  she  saw  what  the  other  woman  meant,  and  tore  off 
her  dress.  While  she  was  getting  on  the  black  one,  they 
heard  Dick  Reeve  moving  in  the  passage  below,  and  presently 
he  called  up  to  her  by  name. 

"  Tell  him  to  wait  five  minutes  longer,"  whispered  Miss 
Woods;  and  Kate,  moistening  her  parched  lips,  called  out: 

"  I  am  not  ready.     I  shall  be  five  minutes  longer." 

With  trembling  hands  she  put  on  the  bonnet  and  drew 
down  the  veil.  She  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot;  but  Miss 
Woods  brought  her  some  more  water,  and  whispered: 

"  You  must  do  it,  for  Mr.  Gordon's  sake." 

Kate  pressed  her  hand  and  opened  the  door.  At  the 
threshold  she  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath;  then  she  went 
down  the  stairs  slowly.  She  heard  Dick  Reeve  spring  up 
from  a  chair  as  he  heard  her  footstep,  and  he  came  out  of  the 
room  to  meet  her;  but  at  sight  of  tne  figure  in  deep  mourn- 
ing he  drew  back  and  let  her  pass. 

Kate's  heart  almost  ceased  beating  as  she  passed  him,  and 
for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  break  down; 
but  the  thought  that  Jack  Gordon's  safety,  his  very  life,  de- 
pended upon  her  nerve  and  self-possession,  gave  her  sudden 
strength  and  courage,  and  she  walked  slowly  trough  the 
room  and  into  the  street,  and  even  restrained  her  burning 
desire  to  quicken  her  pace  until  she  had  reached  the  corner. 

Dick  Reeve  paced  between  the  passage  and  the  sitting-room 
impatiently  for  some  minutes;  then  he  flung  himself  into  a 
chair,  beating  a  tattoo  with  his  feet.  Suddenly  the  street- 
door  onened  and  Mordy  Jane  entered  with  half  a  pound  of 
batter  in  one  hand  and  some  bacon  in  the  other.  She  stared 
at  the  intruder  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then  she  said,  drily: 

"  That's  right;  make  yourself  at  'ome." 

Dick  Reeve,  who  had  stared  back  at  her,  as  if  fascinated 
by  the  grotesque  figure  in  its  ridiculous  bonnet,  rose,  and 
said*  half  sullen! v.  half  fiercely: 


LOVE,  TH3  TYBA2S*.  321 

ie  I'm  a  fnoud  of  Kate  Transom;  I'm  waiting  for  her." 

"  Oh,  you  are,   are  you?"    said  Mordy  Jaae,    sharply. 

*  Sure  you're  a  friend?     If  yer  wasn't  so  countrified  I'd 

take  yer  for  a  writter."  She  meant  an  officer  from  the  county 

court.     "  You've  got  the  same  pleasin'  kind  o'  countenance. 

I'll  tell  'er  yer  waitin'." 

"  She  knows  it,"  said  Dick  Reeve.  "  She's  getting  ready 
to  come  with  me." 

"  Oh,  you're  goin'  to  take  'er  away,  are  you?"  said  Mordy 
Jane. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick  Reeve,  savagely,  "  this  is  no  place  for 
her — a  respectable  girl — " 

Mordy  Jane  put  down  the  butter  and  bacon  on  the  ta  >le 
with  an  emphatic  slap,  and,  with  her  arms  akimbo,  fair;  ed 
and  confronted  him. 

"  Judgin'  by  your  langwidge,  young  man,  I  should  say 
you'd  broke  out  from  a  lunatick  asylum.  If  this  ain't  a  re- 
spectable house,  what  are  you  doin'  in  it,  I  should  like  t» 
know?  You  get  outside!" 

Dick  Reeve  glowered  at  her,  then  went  to  the  foot  of  tho 
stairs  and  called  "  Kate!"  No  answer  came.  He  waited  & 
moment,  then  he  sprang  up  the  stairs  and  knocked  at  tho 
door  violently.  It  was  opened  by  Miss  "Woods,  who  regarded 
him  with  an  affectation  of  surprise  which  did  credit  to  her 
stage  training. 

"  I  want  Kate — Kate  Transom!"  said  Dick  Reeve. 

"  Miss  Transom  is  not  here,"  she  replied,  blandly. 

:<  Where  is  she — where's  she  gone?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Woods,  with  dignity.  "  She 
may  be  upstairs — " 

Dick  Reeve  pushed  past  her  and  looked  round  the  room; 
he  saw  in  a  moment  that  there  was  no  place  and  nothing  in 
it  which  could  conceal  her,  and  with  a  bound  he  was  outside 
and  up  the  remaining  flight  of  stairs;  Mordy  Jane's  voice 
shrilling  up  to  him: 

"Hi!  luny,  where  are  you  goin'?    Thieves,  murder!" 

Dick  Reeve  looked  round  Jack's  room  and  the  other  c  id  on 
the  same  floor,  arid  came  tearing  down  the  stairs,  livid  with 
fury.  At  the  door  he  turned  to  shake  his  clenched  hand  at 
Mordy  Jane  and  Miss  Woods. 

His  fury  was  too  great  for  him  to  speak.  He  saw  how  he 
had  been  tricked.  At  last  his  rage  found  vent  in  a  fearful 
oath,  and  he  ran  into  the  street. 


322  '10VE.  THE  TYRANX. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

JACK'S  work  that  morning  was  the  superintending  of  ft 
gang  of  men  who  were  unloading  one  of  the  huge  ocean-car- 
riers. The  cargo  was  a  heavy  one,  and  the  largest  crane  in 
the  docks  was  raising  the  great  crates  from  the  hold  and 
swinging  them  on  the  quay.  Down  in  the  hold  men,  stripped 
to  their  waists,  were  lugging  aud  putting  the  crates  into  posi- 
tion, and  up  above  on  the  quay  another  gang  of  men  were  re- 
leasing them  from  the  crane  chains  with  which  the  labourers 
in  the  hold  had  encircled  them,  and  pushing  and  hauling 
them  into  stacks.  The  work  was  done  so  quickly,  so  neatly- 
considering  the  weight  of  the  crates — that  an  onlooker  would 
not  have  gained  an  idea  of  the  amount  of  care  and  time 
involved. 

Jack  was  the  ganger  for  the  day,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  see 
that  the  cargo  was  landed  without  injury  to  it — or  to  the  men 
engaged;  and  certainly  no  better  man  could  have  been  chosen; 
for  he  was  not  only  calm  and  cool,  but  possessed  of  that 
strong  personality  which  commands  prompt  obedience  from 
those  who  come  under  its  influence. 

The  man  at  the  lever  which  worked  the  huge  crane,  which 
reared  its  head  and  moved  to  and  fro  as  if  it  were  a  sentient 
creature  instead  of  a  thing  of  iron  and  steel,  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  watchfully  upon  Jack's  face  and  his  ears  open  for  the 
short  word  of  command  that  rang  out  above  the  surrounding 
din,  the  "  Heave  hoy!"  of  the  men,  the  puffing  of  steam, 
and  the  clank  and  rattle  of  the  black  and  heavy  chains;  for 
prompt  obedience  was  not  only  necessary  to  the  proper  mani- 

Sulation  of  the  great  crane,  but  for  the  safety  of  the  men.  A 
elay  of  a  few  seconds  in  the  carrying  out  of  Jack's  order, 
and  the  long  arm  of  the  machine  might  swing  round  too  soon, 
causing  the  crate  it  was  hoisting  or  lowering  to  strike  some 
man  or  fall  on  him,  knocking  nun  silly  or  crushing  the  life 
out  of  him. 

Jack  stood  with  one  foot  on  a  hawser-post,  his  arms  folded 
across  his  knee.  He  had  taken  off  his  coat,  for  the  day  wag 
warm,  and  new  and  again  he  found  it  necessary  to  direct  with 
his  hand  the  last  few  swings  of  the  descending  crates,  which 
he  did  with  a  touch  of  his  hand  or  the  pressure  of  his  strong 
shoulder. 

Calm  and  cool  as  ne  looked,  his  eyes  were  sharp  and  every 


LOVE,  THE  TYBAUT.  322 

muscle  braced  up  for  any  movement  that  might  be  called  for 
suddenly :  and  those  who  were  under  him  toiled  on  with  the 
unquestioning  confidence  of  men  who  have  implicit  trust  in 
their  superior. 

A  hoarse  cry  would  rise  from  the  depths  of  the  hold  an- 
nouncing that  the  crate  was  ready  for  lifting,  Jack's  "  Go> 
now!"  would  sound  clear  and  deep  as  a  full-toned  bell,  the 
engineer  would  respond  "  Aye,  aye,  sir!"  there  would  come 
a  puff  of  steam,  the  sudden  tightening  of  the  black  chain, 
and  the  heavy  load  would  rise  from  the  place  where  it  had 
been  hidden  during  the  voyage,  would  hover  in  the  air  for  •* 
moment  or  two  until  Jack's  voice  sounded  again,  sharp  avul 
stern,  and  then  gracefully  swing  round  over  the  spot  to  whicu 
it  was  to  be  lowered. 

"  The  Forging  of  the  Anchor  "  has  been  sung  in  magnifi- 
cent strains;  "  The  Swinging  of  the  Crane  "  has  yet  to  be 
sung;  it  waits  for  the  man  who  can  see  the  poetry  which  lies 
in  the  vast  strength,  the  child -like  docility  of  the  huge  iron 
arm  which,  like  an  elephant,  obeys  the  will  of  the  man  who 
has  it  under  control. 

Now,  Jack  was  so  absorbed  in  this  critical  and  responsible 
work  that  he  could  scarcely  think  even  of  Esther;  his  eye 
mo  red  only  from  the  swinging  crane  to  its  ascending  and  de- 
scending loads,  and  he  did  not  see  the  tall,  black-dressed 
figure  of  a  woman,  who  with  nervous  haste  was  making  her 
way  amongst  the  cargo  piled  up  on  the  quay;  and  it  was  not 
until  he  heard  his  name  spoken  close  behind  him  that  he 
turned  and  saw  her. 

He  started  and  stared  at  her,  thinking  for  a  moment  that 
t  was  Miss  Woods  in  her  widow's  dress;  then  he  saw  that 
<;he  white  face  framed  by  the  black  bonnet  was  Kate's. 

"  Kate!"  he  exclaimed — and  even  as  he  spoke,  he  had  to 
turn  his  eyes  from  her  to  the  crane.  "  You  here?— doa'S 
come  nearer!  Stand  back!  What  has  happene I?" 

She  shrank  back,  but  drew  closer  to  him  the  next  instant 
and,  snatching  a  glance  at  her,  as  he  shouted  "  Lower  aw»y!" 
he  saw  that  she  was  not  only  white,  but  that  she  was  trem- 
bling violently. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  asked,  quickly,  putting  in  his  ^aestion 
between  his  last  and  the  next  word  of  command. 

"  The  man!"  she  gasped.  "  It  was  Dick  Reeve—he  has 
been  to  the  house — he  wanted  to  take  me  back  with  him!" 

Jack  nodded  and  raised  his  brows. 

"  Ok! —  Heady  below?  Lower!  Let  her  gol —  Dicu 
fieeie!  How  did  he  find—" 


324  LOVE,  THE 

"  I  tioa't  know.  He  would  not  tell  me.  Oh,  Mr.  Gordon, 
fie  knows  where  you  are — he  will  follow  yon— I  gave  him  the 
slip — this  dress  of  Miss  Woods — " 

Jack  nodded. 

"  Hold  hard  a  moment!    Ready?    Let  her  go!" 

"  He  will  follow  yon  here  and  find  you.  You  must  fly* 
Oh,  for  God's  sake,  go  at  once!  You  know  the  danger— the 
dreadful  danger!" 

Jack  looked  at  her — he  could  only  spare  a  seaond. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Kate?"  he  asked,  swiftly, 
in  parenthesis  as  before.  "  Why  should  I  fly?'* 

He  knows !"  she  said,  in  as  low  a  voice  as  she  could* 
"  He  knows — he  threatened  that  if  I  did  not  go  with  him  ha 
would —  Ah!  why  do  you  still  pretend  not  to  understand?" 
She  wrung  her  hands.  Jack's  face  flushed,  but  he  had  not 
time  to  speak  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  See  here,  Kate,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  in  between  his  orders, 
"  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  hinted  at  my  being  in 
some  kind  of  danger,  and  hang  me  if  I  know  what  you  mean! 
What  is  it  Dick  Reeve  threatens  me  with?" 

She  drew  quite  close  to  him,  so  close  that  her  lips  almost 
touched  his  face. 

"  He — he  knows  what — what  took  place  that  night  in  Van- 
court  Woods!  Oh,  why  do  you  hesitate?  Why  don't  you  go 
while  there  is  time?  Ah,  too  late,  too  late!"  She  broke  off 
with  an  agonised  cry  that  rose  above  the  shrill  of  the  escaping 
steam  and  the  clank  of  the  chains.  "  He  is  here — look!" 

Jack  looked  in  the  direction  in  which  she  was  gazing  and 
saw  Dick  Reeve  springing  over  some  bales  and  coming  in 
their  direction.  Jack  saw  that  the  man's  face  was  flushed 
and  his  eyes  bloodshot,  and  he  thought  that  Dick  Reeve  was 
drunk;  but  as  he  came  nearer,  Jack  saw  that  the  man  was  in 
a  towering  passion,  and  catching  Dick  Reeve's  eye  as  they 
rested  for  an  instant  on  Kate,  Jack  also  saw,  as  it  were  in  a 
flash,  the  cause  of  the  trouble:  Dick  Reeve  was  jealous  of 
him.  Little  things  he  had  heard  at  Vancourt,  but  which  had 
not  struck  him  at  the  moment  of  hearing  them,  recurred  to 
him  now.  Dick  Reeve  was  in  love  with  Kate,  and,  naturally 
enough,  thought  that  she  had  gone  off  with  him,  Jack. 

It  would  be  difficult,  at  any  time,  to  remove  Dick's  sus- 
picions and  to  allay  his  passionate  temper;  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  do  so  under  such  circumstances  as  the  present;  with 
the  big  crane  swinging  to  Mid  fro,  with  the  din  of  the  docks 
in  the  air,  in  the  prince  of  the  mm  ciowcling  about  like 
bees  ia  a  hive.  Jack  t'ortsaw  trouble:  for  Dick  UAP.VA  had 


LOVE,  THE  TYEAKTi  325 

murder  written  plainly  in  his  swarthy  face,  and  Kate— well, 
he  could  hear  her  panting  with  terror  at  his  side.  But  Jack 
was  always  cool  when  danger  threatened,  especially  when  it 
was  threatened  by  a  fellow-man;  so  as  Dick  Reeve  blundered 
like  a  mad  bull  over  crate  and  bale,  Jack  nodded  with  a 
friendly  smile,  and,  when  Dick  had  come  near  enough  t«  hear 
through  the  din,  said: 

"  How  are  you,  Reeve?  Don't  come  too  near;  this  thing's 
got  an  awkward  knack  of.  dropping  round  on  yon  unex- 
pectedly." 

Dick  Reeve  pulled  up  just  out  of  reach  of  the  crate  which 
was  swinging  in  the  air,  and  with  heaving  chest  and  flashing 
eyes  glared  at  Jack's  cool  countenance. 

"  Curse  you!"  he  gasped,  at  last.  "  I've  found  you — yon 
can't  escape  me.  I've  got  you  here,  I've  got  you  both  to- 
gether. Come  out  here,  in  the  open,  and  fight  me  like  a 
man!  But  you  ain't  a  man;  you're  a  lying,  sneaking  hound 
as  enticed  a  girl  from  her  home.  Look  at  her,  what  you've 
made  of  her!" 

He  pointed  a  shaking  finger  at  Kate,  who,  in  a  half-faint- 
ing condition,  was  leaning  against  a  hawser-post,  her  eyei 
wandering  fearfully  from  one  to  the  other. 

Jack's  face  flushed,  but  his  voice  was  cool  and  steady,  as  he 
said: 

"  You're  making  a  mistake,  Reeve — are  you  ready  down 
below? — making  a  hideous  mistake.  It's  true  you  find  Kate 
and  me  together — let  her  go! — but  it's  only  by  accident.  I 
met  her  in  London,  here  -lower  away! — and  we've  been  to- 
gether, friends — just  friends — steady,  there! — if  you  wait 
until  I'm  off  duty  I'll  explain  the  whole  matter  to  you — " 

"  You  mean  you'll  give  me  the  slip,"  said  Dick  Reeve. 
"  You  lie,  and  you  know  it!  Look  at  her,  there!  If  she 
doesn't  care  for  you,  why  did  she  play  this  trick  on  me?  why 
didn't  she  come  with  i^e  instead  of  coming  to  you?  I  know 
why  she  came — to  warn  you.  But  it's  too  late.  I've  got 
you.  Come  out  here,  in  the  open,  and  fight  me  like  a  man, 
or  I'll  open  my  mouth  wide  and  charge  you,  here,  with  every- 
body to  hear." 

•'I  really 
Keeve,"  said 
way  of  knocking 
here  and  I  can't  leave.  If  you'd  only  be  obliging  enough  to 
wait  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  will  take  a  turn  with  you  and 
as  long  a  one  as  you  like." 

Notwithstanding  the  cheerf  ulr :  r?  of  his  tone  there  was  aa 


326  LOVE,   THE  TYRAUt 

ominous  look  in  his  eyes  which  filled  Kate  *nth  dread.     She 
sprang  to  him  and  clasped  his  arm. 

"  No,  no!"  she  implored.     "  You  shall  not!" 

The  sight  of  her  distress  on  Jack's  account  was  too  much 
for  Dick  Reeve  in  his  present  condition.  He  sprang  on  a 
bale,  and,  shaking  his  fist  towards  Jack,  cried  out: 

"  This  man's  a  murderer!  I  charge  him  with  murder!  I 
saw  him  do  it!" 

Jack's  voice  rang  out: 

"Ready  below  there!"  then  he  glanced  at  Kate  quickly. 
"  Is  he  mad  or  drunk?"  he  asked. 

In  the  din  no  one  but  Jack  and  Kate  had  heard  Dick  Reeve's 
accusation;  Jack's  indifference  maddened  the  man,  and,  with 
a  kind  of  snarl,  he  sprang  at  Jack.  As  he  did  so,  the  order 
to  swing  the  crate  issued  from  Jack's  lips;  round  it  came 
with  a  kind  of  grim  precision ;  the  huge  mass  struck  Dick 
Reeve,  half  blind  with  rage  and  fury,  and  knocked  him  over 
the  quay.  It  was  done  so  quickly,  he  disappeared  so  in- 
stantly, that  not  a  soul,  save  Jack  and  Kate,  saw  the  accident; 
and  the  passing  of  a  tug  which  was  just  leaving  the  dock 
drowned  the  noise  of  his  fall.  It  was  impossible  for  Jack  to 
leave  his  post  at  the  moment,  for  his  doing  so  would  endanger 
a  number  of  lives;  so  he  had  to  stand  and  give  the  word  of 
command,  restraining  Kate,  who  seemed  about  to  rush  to  the 
quay's  side.  Directly  the  crate  was  safely  lowered,  and  the 
crane  at  a  standstill,  he  shouted: 

"  Hold  hard,  all  hands!"  and  sprang  to  the  edge  of  the  quay. 

Dick  Reeve  was  nowhere  in  sight;  but  Jack  guessed  what 
had  happened  and  that  the  unfortunate  man  had  been  sucked 
under  by  the  wash  of  the  tug.  Presently  he  saw  him  rise  to 
the  surface,  and  Jack  dived  in  and  swam  for  him.  Like  most 
countrymen,  Dick  Reeve  could  not  swim  a  stroke,  and  as 
Jack  approached  him  he  tried  to  make  a  grab  at  his  rescuer; 
but  Jack  put  aside  his  arm  and  seized  him  by  the  back  of  his 
coat.  As  he  did  so,  he  saw  the  blood  oozing  from  a  wound  on 
Dick  Reeve's  forehead,  and  an  instant  or  two  afterwards  felt 
the  man  turn,  as  it  were  to  a  dead  weight.  He  knew  that 
Dick  Reeve  had  fainted.  Nothing  would  have  been  easier,  if 
they  had  been  in  the  open  sea,  than  to  tow  the  man  ashore; 
but  they  were  in  the  swirl  of  the  tug,  which,  all  unconscious 
of  what  was  going  on  under  its  grimy  hull,  was  puffing  and 
enor'uiug  on  its  way. 

Jack  fought  hard,  but  every  stroke  he  took  seemed  to  send 
him  e'ill  further  into  the  miniature  whirlpool;  and  he  began 
to  think  that  all  his  troubles  would  be  ended  and  that  it 


I0VE,  THE  TYBAHT.  327 

trcnld  not  be  &  all  necessary  for  him  to  go  out  to  AnstraTh  to 
solve  the  problem  of  his  life,  when  a  man  on  board  fhe  tug 
chanced  to  catch  sight  of  the  two  figures  in  the  water,  and 
shouting  an  order,  brought  the  vessel  to  a  standstill.  A  boat 
was  lowered,  and  Jack  and  Dick  Reeve  were  hauled  on  bciird, 

Jack  was  neatly  gone,  and  had  to  lie  down  to  get  his  wind, 
and  Dick  Kseve  lay  as  lifeless  as  a  log.  When  Jack  caine 
fully  round,  his  first  question  was: 

"  Is  he  dead?" 

He  was  informed  that  Dick  Reeve  was  alive,  but  apparently 
badly  injured.  A  crowd  of  men  had  collected  on  the  quay, 
but  Jack  had  only  eves  for  Kate  Transom,  who  was  kneeling 
on  the  edge  wailing  for  the  boat.  He  landed  rather  stiffly 
and  shook  the  water  from  him  as  a  stretcher  was  brought  for 
Dick  Reeve  and  was  accompanied  by  one  of  the  dock  police- 
men. There  was  not  much  excitement,  because  accidents  at 
the  docks  are  by  no  means  infrequent.  Dick  Reeve  was  re- 
stored to  consciousness,  and  Jack  and  Elate  accompanied  him 
in  a  cab  to  the  hospital.  On  the  way  he  opened  his  eyes  now 
and  again  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  strange 
expression  on  his  face;  an  expression  of  doubt  and  something 
like  sullen  remorse;  but  he  said  nothing;  and  when  inter 
Jack  and  Kate  were  admitted  to  the  ward  and  st  .oi  b'.side 
his  bed,  he,  after  looking  at  them  fixedly  for  a  monisnt, 
closed  his  eves  and  turned  his  head  away  as  if  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  speak. 

Jack  qui:e  understood  the  man's  feelings:  it  is  not  pleasant 
to  be  saved  by  the  person  you  distrust  and  dislike. 

"  Good-bye,  Reeve,"  he  said,  taking  the  hot  hand.  "  I'm 
afraid  I  must  leave  you  now;  but  I'm  leaving  yon  in  good 
hands;  and  they'll  let  me  know  how  you  get  on.  Don't  you 
worry  about  Kate,"  he  added,  significantly, ."  I'm  going  to 
take  her  back  to  her  father.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  get 
well  as  soon  as  possible." 

When  he  and  Kate  had  got  outside — she  walked  beside  him 
almost  as  a  dog  follows  his  master— Jack  said: 

*'  We'll  wait  until  we  get  home,  Kate,  and  then  you  shall 
tell  me  what  all  this  means,  if  it  mean  anything  at  all!  We'll 
take  a  cab,  for  we  shall  only  lost  have  time  to  catch  the 
tain." 

*  You — you  are  going  to  Vancourt?"  she  breathed,  with  a 
look  of  fear  and  amazement  on  her  white  face. 

"  I  am  going  to  Vancourt,  Kate,"  he  said,  grimly. 

Nothing  more  was  said  until  they  reached  home  and 
having  changed,  joined  her  in  the  sitting-rooiP- 


328  LOVE,  THE  TYBATST. 

"  Now,  Kate,*  he  said,  gently  enough,  but  firmly,  "  was 
Dick  Reeve  raving  mad  on  the  quay,  or  was  there  any  mean- 
ing in  his  words?" 

She  seemed  scarcely  capable  of  speech,  and  sat  with  her: 
face  hidden  in  her  hands  for  a  moment;  then  she  looked  up 
at  him  piteously. 

"  Don't  you  know?"  she  whispered.  "  Did  nothing  hap- 
pen the  night  you  left — the  night  you  were  in  the  woods — 
when  I  saw  you  with  your  hands  all  over  blood — the  night 
you  left  your  gun — " 

Jack  stared  at  her  in  dumb  bewilderment. 

41  Why,  what  should  happen?"  he  asked  after  a  time.  "  I 
haven't  the  least  notion  wnat  you're  driving  at.  Poor  Dink 
Reeve  said  something  about  murder.  What  murder?  If  any 
had  been  committed,  I  should  have  heard  of  it." 

She  rose  with  her  hands  clasped  against  her  heart,  her 
breath  coming  painfully. 

"  You  don't  know!  'Nothing  happened  that  night?  Oh, 
thank  God,  thank  God!  No,  I  won*t  say  another  word!  Yes, 
I  will  go  wherever  you  like  to  take  me.  I  will  go  back  to 
Vancourt  now.*' 

Jack  was  still  puzzled,  but  he  nodded  cheerfully  and  looked 
at  his  watch. 

"  We've  just  time  to  catch  the  train.  I'm  going  to  taks 
Miss  Woods  with  us,"  he  said;  and  he  reddened  a  little,  for 
he  saw  by  Kate's  face  that  she  understood  that  he  was  taking 
Miss  Woods  because  the  presence  of  another  woman  would 
dispel  any  suspicion  respecting  Kate  and  himself.  Presently 
Miss  Woods  came  down  with  the  canary-coloured  wig  brushed 
very  smoothly  and  quietly,  and  without  her  rouge;  and  the 
three  started  for  Vancourt. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

BSTHEB  had  her :  *  good  cry,"  then  faced  the  situation  as 
calmly  and  composedly  as  she  could.  All  night  long  she  lay 
awake  realising  that  she  had  lost  the  Vancourt  property,  that 
Jack  Gordon  was  Sir  John  Vancourt,  the  rightful  owner,  and 
that  she  was  going  back  to  music-teaching  in  Islington. 

That  was  bad  enough,  of  course;  but  the  remembrance  of 
her  parting  with  Jack  added  to  her  unhappiness.  If  he  had 
offerer!  excuses  and  professed  penitence  she  thought  that  she 
could  have  borne  the  thought  of  the  parting  better;  but  Jack, 
all  unwillingly  had  behaved  in  the  wav.  which  wnmaru  willj- 


LOVE,  THE  TYSJLBTE.  329 

,  always  admire;  that  is,  he  had  flown  into  a  passion  an 
roared  at  her;  and  though  she  felt  that  it  was  absurd,  she  had 
a  kind  of  idea  that  she  had  been  unjust  to  him.     It  was  ab- 
surd, because  he  had  not  ventured  to  deny  that  hs  had  taken 
Kate  from  b>r  home,  and  that  he  ought  to  marry  her. 

Poor  Miss  Worcester  felt  rather  flurried  when  she  was  told 
that  they  were  to  return  to  Vancourt  by  the  ten  o'clock  train, 
and  begged  hard  for  a  few  hours  of  shopping;  bat  Esther, 
with  a  strange  smile  on  her  pale  face,  shook  her  head;  and 
Miss  Worcester,  still  murmuring  pathetically  at  being  "  hus- 
tled "  for  no  "  earthly  reason,"  found  herself  at  Waterloo  in 
good  time  for  the  express. 

Esther  had  wired  to  Mr.  Floss  to  be  at  the  Towers  the  nest 
morning,  and  had  also  telegraphed  to  Selby  Lay  ton  and  Mr. 
Coverdale  to  come  at  the  same  hour.  All  the  way  down  in 
the  train  she  tried  to  plan  out  her  future  —  for  she  had  a 
shrewd  suspicion  that  Selby  Layton  would,  after  he  heard  of 
the  loss  of  her  fortune,  want  to  withdraw  from  his  engage- 
ment; a  suspicion  which  caused  her  no  pain;  but  in  spite  of 
all  her  efforts  she  could  not  drive  Jack  Gordon  from  her 
mind. 

"  You  seem  very  quiet  and  depressed,  my  dear  Esther," 
remarked  Miss  Worcester,  "  But,  there.  I'm  not  surprised! 
Such  a  helter-skelter  journey  as  we  have  made  is  enough  to 
tire  the  most  robust,  and,  as  no  one  in  their  senses  could  call 
me  that,  I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  am  physically  and  men- 
tally exhuasted.  Why  on  earth  you  wanted  to  tear  to  London 
and  back  in  this  absurd  fashion  as  if  —  as  if  you  were  travel- 
ling with  a  single  day's  excursion  ticket,  I  can't  imagine!" 

Esther  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  Perhaps  some  day  we  shall  be  glad  of  a  single  day's  ex- 
cursion ticket,  auntie,"  she  said,  wondering  how  she  should 
ever  succted  in  **  breaking  "  the  bad  news  to  the  old  lady. 
"Who  knows?  Riches  take  to  themselves  wings,  we're  told—" 

**  How  absurd  jou  are,  Esther!  Fancy  Vancourt  Towers 
flying  away.  They  are  a  little  too  solid,  I  think!"  she  re- 
torted, with  a  dignified  perk  of  her  hsad. 

"  I  don't  know,  auntie,  nettling  ought  to  surprise  one  in 
this  most  changeable  and  transitory  of  worlds,  you  know. 
And  if  —  if  eay,  for  instance,  it  turned  out  that  Sir  Richard's 
nephew  was  alive  and  —  and—  claimed  the  property  —  ' 

\f-  __  Ttr  _____  A  ___  _______  a  .  .a  i_  •_.    _--,*  ? 


she 

have  net  been  at  all  the  thing  lately.,  and  now  voa  are 


330  MTE,  THE  TYRAKT. 

so  wildly  that  yon  make  me  quite  uncomfortable  and  aaxfoos 
about  you.*' 

Esther,  with  a  sigh,  relinquished  her  well-meant  attempt 
to  break  the  bad  news,  and  talked  of  the  small  things  that 
made  up  Miss  Worcester's  life  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

As  they  drove  up  the  avenue  she  looked  up  at  the  great 
building  with,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  sense  of  loss.  It  had 
feeen  very  good  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  vast  place,  of  all  the 
land  and  the  people,  to  have  the  control  and  spending  of  so 
many  thousands,  and  she  knew  that  when  she  was  giving 
music-lessons  in  grim  and  dreary  Islington  she  would  look 
back  with  keem  regret  for  all  her  vanished  greatness.  She  was 
no  longer  mistress  of  Vancourt  Towers,  and — and —  Would 
Kate  Transom  reign  in  her  stead? 

She  was  received  in  due  state  by  Palmer  and  his  attendant 
satellites,  and  Palmer  handed  her  a  note  from  Mr.  Floss.  It 
was  only  a  line  or  two,  saying  that  the  Parish  Council  had 
asked  permission  to  drain  the  Hawk's  Pool,  and  he  had 
granted  it.  The  note  had  arrived  an  hour  after  she  had 
started  for  London.  Esther  put  it  aside  with  the  reflection 
that  it  was  now  no  concern  of  hers  what  they  did  with  the 
Hawk's  Pool  or  any  other  portion  of  the  estate. 

After  dinner  she  went  up  to  her  room  and,  with  her  own 
hands,  packed  a  small  box  with  the  plainest  of  her  dresses, 
including  those  in  wliich  she  had  come  to  the  Towers,  which 
she  had  kept,  from  an  easily  understood  sentiment,  little 
dreaming  that  she  would  need  them  again;  then  she  went 
down-stairs  again,  and  slowly  and  rather  sadly  made  a  tour  of 
the  principal  rooms.  It  was  in  reality  a  farewell,  for  amongst, 
other  things  she  had  resolved  on  during  her  sleepless  night 
was  her  prompt  surrender  of  and  departure  from  the  Towers: 
the  sooner  she  got  back  to  Islington  and  the  old  life  of  toil 
and  self-denial  the  better.  She  was  very  gentle  and  loving 
— in  a  remorseful  kind  of  way — to  Miss  Worcester  all  the 
evening,  and  drew  the  old  lady  to  her  bosom  with  an  unusual 
confession  of  affection  when  they  said  good-night. 

Strange  to  say,  she  slept  well,  but  she  dreamt,  and  her 
dreams  were  of  Jack  Ooropc,  One  was  an  unpleasant  one 
enough;  no  less  than  a  vision  of  him  and  Kate  Transom 
standing  before  the  altar:  and  Rate  wore  a  bridal  dress!  She 
slept  until  Marie  called  her  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  later 
than  usual  when  she  went  down  *o  breakfast.  They  were 
scarcely  seated  when  Mr.  Floss's  dog-oart  drove  up. 

"  I  will  tell  him  you  are  at  breakfast,  miss,"  said  Palmer, 
who  did  not  like  his  beloved  mistress  to  be  distorted  at  he? 


I07E,  THE  TYRAHTi  331 

meals;  brrt  leather  said  she  would  see  him  at  once,  and,  only 
waiting  to  drink  a  tittle  tea,  went  to  the  library. 

Mr.  Moss  was  pacing  up  and  down,  and  when  he  turned 
to  her  Esther  saw  that  his  face  looked  grimly  disturbed,  and 
that  his  thick  brows  were  moving  up  and  down  as  if  he  were 
agitated  or  upset  about  something. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said.  "  I've  come 
earlier  than  you  said,  but — are  you  ill?"  he  broke  off  to  en- 
quire. 

"  Not  in  the  very  least,"  she  said;  "  but  I  am,  naturally, 
as  you  will  understand  presently,  rather  upset.  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  at  once,  Mr.  Floss,  that — that  I  have  discovered  that 
Sir  Richard's  nephew  is  alive,  that  the  story  of  his  death  was 
incorrect,  and  that  I  am  no  longer  the  mistress  of  Vancourk" 

He  stared  at  her,  but  did  not  seem  so  much  impressed,  •*. 
much  startled  as  Esther  felt  he  ought  to  have  been. 

"You  don't  appear  very  greatly  surprised,"  she  said.,  «• 
little  nettled,  woman-like,  by  his  seeming  indifference. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  said.  "  What  did  you  say? 
Excuse  me,  I  am  rather  flurried  this  morning — for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  I  think  I  might  say!  The  fact  is,  there  has 
been  a  very  dreadful  discovery —  What  did  you  say?  Sir 
John  Vancourt  not  dead!" 

He  broke  off  and  stared  at  her,  his  brows  working  up  and 
down  as  if  two  things  were  fighting  for  predominance  in  his 
mind. 

"  Yes;  but  tell  me  what  is  the  matter,  what  has  been  dis- 
covered?" said  Esther,  with  a  sudden  presentiment  of  eviL 

Mr.  Floss  advanced  to  a  chair. 

"  Better  sit  down,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry 
to  have  to  tell  you,  but  you  must  hear  it,  and  it  is  better  that 
it  should  come  from  me.  You  got  my  note  about  the  Parish 
Council?" 

Esther  nodded  gravely  and  impatiently. 

"  Well,  they  acted  pretty  promptly  on  my  permission,  and 
sent  some  men  to  sound  the  Pool  early  this  morning,  and — 
and  while  they  were  doing  so  they  came  upon — I  wish  you'd 
sit  down! — they  made  a  very  dreadful  discovery;  in  short, 
they — they  found  a  body.*' 

Esther  felt  for  the  chair  and  sank  into  it,  and  Mr.  Floes 
paused  and  regarded  her  anxiously. 

"  Tut,  tut!  I  meant  to  break  it  gently,  and  Pve  blurted  ft 
out  like — like  an  elephant!'* 

"  No,  nol"  said  Esther.  "  A  body?— please  toll  use 
quickly*" 


332  LOVZ,  THE  TYRAIFT. 

"  The  body  of  a  man.  It  was  found  chained  to  an  anchor 
— an  anchor  fhat  used  to  be  attached  to  the  old  boat  Shall 
I  get  you  a  little  brandy? — shall  I  call  Miss  Worcester?'7 

"  No,  no!"  said  Esther.  "  I  am  not  faint;  but — but  it  ia 
so  sudden." 

"  The  poor  fellow  has  been  murdered — there  can  bs  no 
doubt  of  it.  There  is  the  mark  of  a  blow  on  the  temple,  jnst 
in  the  place  where  a  blow  is  often  fatal.  The  murderer  must 
have  towed  the  body  of  his  victim  out  to  the  centre  of  the 
lake—" 

"  Wait — a  moment!  There  is  some  water  in  that  carafe  I 
Thank  you!"  breathed  Esther,  as  she  took  the  glass  in  I*** 
shaking  hand. 

— "  And  sank  it  with  the  anchor." 

As  he  was  speaking,  the  murmur  of  voices  rose  from  tli* 
garden,  and  Esther  saw  a  small  crowd  of  servants  and  village 

Sople  collected  outside.     As  she  looked,  Selby  Layton  and 
r.  Coverdale  drove  up  in  the  Fanworth  dog-cart. 

"  W;hom?"  she  faltered.  "  Whom  do  they  suspect?  The 
poachers?  Who  is  the  man,  the  murdered  man?" 

She  shuddered  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"  A  stranger;  that  is,  to  all  Vancourt  but  one  person,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Floss.  "  He  came  here  on  a  visit  and  stayed  at  the 
Black  Crow — the  landlord  has  identified  him — and  he  has 
been  identified  by  one  other  person — by  Transom." 

"  Transom!" 

"  Yes;  Transom,  as  you  know,  has  been  out  in  Australia* 
and  he  knew  this  man  there  as  a  leader  of  a  gang  of  bush- 
rangers. Transom  met  him  and  talked  with  him  here,  in 
Vancourt,  on  a  certain  Tuesday;  but,  stiangely  snough,  he 
declares  that  the  man  did  not  come  to  see  him,  but  said  tlmfc 
he  camo  here  on  some  business,  of  what  nature  he  did  not  teli 
Transom.  Transom  is  not  too  frank  and  open  in  the  matter, 
and  I  suspect  him  of  being  one  of  the  gang  of  bushrangers. 
But  here  are  the  facts:  the  man  came  here  on  some  mysteri- 
ous business,  leaves,  as  it  was  supposed,  for  Loncion,  but  is 
found  lying  at  the  bottom  of  Hawk's  Pool —  What  a  noise 
they  are  making  outside!  I'll  tell  them — " 

Esther  stayed  him  with  a  movement  of  her  hand, 

"  But  who  killed  him?"  she  asked,  faintly. 

Mr.  Floss  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  I  really  don't  like  to  answer  the  question,"  he  said< 
"  But  suspicion  is  directed  to — " 

He  paused,  and  before  he  could  finish  the  sentence  Palmar 
uoened  the  door. 


MJVE,  THE  TYBAlfTa  333 

"Mr.  Gordon,  miss/'  he  said. 

Esther  started,  and  Mr.  Floss  mattered  something  meter 
Ids  breath.  She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  said: 

"  Please  show  Mr.  Gordon  in." 

Now,  Jack  had  taken  Kate  and  Miss  Woods  to  the  Tran 
Boms'  cottage,  but,  finding  that  Transom  was  not  in,  had 
come  straight  on  to  the  Towers,  promising  to  return  to  Kate 
as  soon  as  possible.  He  had,  as  he  came  along,  been  seen 
and  recognised,  and  he  noticed  that  by  those  he  had  met  in 
the  road  and  by  the  crowd  collected  in  front  of  the  house  he 
had  been  regarded  with  a  curious  expression  which  was  more 
turious  than  fpleasant.  But  Jack  was  too  absorbed  in  think- 
ing of  Esther  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  demeanour  of  the 
people,  and  he  entered  the  room  with  a  grave  and  rather 
stem  face. 

Esther's  heart  began  to  beat  fiercely,  as  it  always  did  in  his 
presence,  but  she  bowed  with  apparent  calmness — she  did  not 
offer  her  hand — and  Jack  returned  the  bow. 

**  I'm  afraid  I  have  come  at  an  inconvenient  time,  Miss 
Vancourt,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  Esther,  almost  interrupting  him.  "  I  am  very 
glad  you  have  come.  I  had  sent  for  Mr.  Floss  to  tell  him  of 
the  discovery  I  had  made,  and  he  is  here  and  will  help  me  to 
restore  to  the  rightful  owner — " 

•  She  stopped,  for  Mr.  Floss  had  moved  between  Jack  and 
the  door,  and  had  closed  it  and  turned  the  key. 

"  One  moment,  Miss  Vancourt,"  he  said.  "  You  were  ask- 
ing me  a  question  just  now,  a  very  terrible  question,  and  I 
was  on  the  point  of  answering  it,  when  Mr.  Gordon  came  in. 
I  do  not  know  whether  Mr.  Gordon  is  aware  of  the  charge 
against  him — a  charge  which  will  be  made  presently  in  due 
form,  if  it  is  not  already — " 

Jack  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  Was  there  anything  in 
Kate's  wild  words  and  hinted  fears? 

"  What  charge?"  he  said,  gravely,  and  with  so  absolute 
a  calm  and  self-possession  that  Mr.  Floss  was  staggered. 

He  bit  his  lip  and  regarded  the  young  man  with  keen 
scrutiny. 

"  Mr.  Gordon,"  he  said,  slowly.    "  It  is  usual  on  such  pc 
casions  as  this  to  utter  a  warning.     I  do  so  now.     Anything 
you  may  say  will  be  used  against  yon;  it  rests  with  yon  to 
keep  silence  or  speak.     A  murder  has  been  committed,  the 
body  has  been  found  in  the  Hawk's  Pool." 

Jack  started,  but  it  was  not  like  the  start  of  guilt. 

a  asro  another  discovery  was  ioaci&  bv  Miss 


334  MJVE,  THE  TYRAUT. 

court.     It  may  or  may  not  be  connected  with  this  later 
more  awful  one.     Do  you  know  this?" 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  from  the  pocket  of  his  voluminous 
coat  the  tin  which  Esther  had  found  under  the  hearthstone, 
and  held  it  out. 

Jack  glanced  at  it 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  quite  coolly.  "  It  is  my  prop- 
erty— at  least — "  He  hesitated,  and  Mr.  Floss  held  up  his 
hand  warningly;  but  Jack  went  on.  "I  buried  that  tin  in 
the  fire-place  at  the  cottage;  it  contains  some  bank-notes  and. 
a  pocket-book — they  belong,  I've  every  reason  to  believe,  to 
„».  scoundrel  who  " — he  glanced  at  Esther  and  hesitated  aga:  n 
— "who  nearly  murdered  me  in  Australia,  and  did  n; ••• 
der— " 

Esther  drew  back  with  a  low  cry,  and  Mr.  Floss  said, 
sternly: 

"  Stop!  Say  no  more!  It  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  the  man  you  speak  of  has  been 
murdered,  that  his  body  was  thrown  into  the  Hawk's  Pool." 

Jack  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment. 

*  He — here — here  in  Vancourt!    How — why — " 

"  How  did  you  come  by  these  notes,  this  pocket-book?" 
enquired  Mr.  Floss.  "  But  no,  I  will  not  ask  you — I  have  no 
right." 

"  Every  right  in  the  world,"  said  Jack,  quietly.  "  I  found 
them  while  I  was  pursuing  the  man  whom  I  chanced  to  meet 
in  London.  I  had  met  him  by  chance,  by  Hyde  Park — whea 
I  was  up  in  town  for  you,  getting  the  machines,"  he  explained 
to  Esther,  "  and  I  had  a  struggle  with  him,  and  nearly 
caught  him;  but  he  got  away,  and  it  was  only  by  chance  that 
I  saw  him  again —  What's  the  matterl"  for  Mr.  Floss  had 
held  up  both  hands  to  stop  him. 

"  Not  another  word!"  he  said,  sternly.  "  Every  word  you 
afcter  would  form  evidence  against  you — " 

Esther  uttered  a  cry,  a  piteous  cry,  and  Jack,  with  flushed 
face  and  eyes  wide  with  amazement,  looked  from  one  ;  i  the 
other. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  am  snspcted  of  murder?" 
he  began,  but  there  came  a  knock  at  the  aoor,  and  Mr.  Floss, 
signing  to  the  other  two  to  remain  silent,  went  and  opened  it. 

Selby  Layton  followed  by  Harry  Ooverdale,  entered.  The 
former  was  very  pale,  and  there  was  a  furtive  look  in  his 
eyes;  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  then  he  came  forward 
%nd  took  Esther's  hand. 

"  My  dear  Esther,  what— what  is  the  matter?  _Wb«  art  *J 


TYEATHi.  335 

these  peopis  outside,  and-  Good-morning,  Mr.  Floss,  has 
anything  happened? —  What  is  it,  dearest?" 

His  voice  had  its  flute-stop  on,  and  he  regarded  her  with 
tenderly  anxious  eyes. 

"  Yes,  something  has  happened,  Mr.  Layton,"  said  Mr. 
Floss,  rather  grimly  and  coldly — he  had  not  got  over  his — as 
he  himself  deemed  unreasonable — dislike  for  that  gentleman. 
*'  Nothing  less  than  murder — " 

Selby  Cay  ton  started,  and  his  face  grew  paler. 

"  Murder!  Who?  My  dear  Esther,  this  is  no  place  for 
you — come — go — into  the  drawing-room  to  Miss  Worcester, 
while  Mr.  Floss  tells  me — " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  Harry  Coverdale  had  come  into 
the  rocm,  and,  after  looking  at  Jack  for  a  moment,  advanced 
and  held  out  his  hand,  saying,  with  a  smile: 

"  How  do  you  do,  Vancourt?  I  see  you  have  been  discov- 
ered! Well,  I  suppose  I've  got  to  congratulate  you;  anyway, 
I'm  -Awfully  glad  to  see  you  again!" 

Jack,  looking  rather  confused  than  pleased,  shook  hands; 
and  Selby  Lay  ton  stared  at  them,  his  breath  coming  painfully. 

"  Vancourt?  Vancourt?"  he  said.  "  Why  do  you  call 
this  man —  This  is  the  man  Gordon  who  went  off  with  poor 
Kate  Transom — " 

"  That's  a  lie,  Mr.  Lay  ton,"  said  Jack,  quietly,  but  with  a 
flash  in  his  eyes.  To  be  charged  with  the  murder  of  his  old 
foe  was  bad  enough,  but  to  be  accused,  and  by  Selby  Layton, 
the  man  who  was  engaged  to  Esther,  of  a  still  baser  crime 
was  miserable.  "  That's  strong  language,  I'm  afraid,  but 
I'm  obliged  to  use  it." 

Selby  Layton  sneered. 

*'  I  am  sorry  you  should  think  it  worth  while  to  deny  it," 
he  said.  "  I  saw  you  both  together,  Mr.  Gordon — " 

"  Quite  true,  I've  no  doubt.  We  were  living  in  the  same 
house,"  said  Jack;  "  but  Kate  Transom  is  as  innocent  as — 
well,  as  I  am  of  any  wrong-doing,  notwithstanding.  I  am 
HOW  going  round  to  her  father's.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
would  like  to  accompany  me  " — he  looked  at  Mr.  Floss. 

"  But  Vancourt!  Why  do  yon  call  him  Vancourt?"  asked 
Selby  Layton  of  Coverdale. 

"  ^Because  that  is  his  name,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  This  gen- 
tleman is  Sir  John  Vancourt,  the  nephew  and  heir  of  Sir 
Bichard  Vancourt." 

Selby  Layton  stared  aghast,  then  he  looked  at  Esther. 

'•  Bat  this  lady — Miss  Vancourt — is  the  owner  of  the  Tow- 
ere— tbe  jjropertyl" 


33C  f/JVE,  THP  TYRANT. 

Mr.  Floss  had  been  watching  Jack  closely.  For  the  first 
tame  in  his  life  the  old  lawyer  was  completely  thrown  off  his 
balance. 

"  What  is  this?"  he  broke  in.  "  Are  you —  By  George! 
now  I've  heard  it,  now  I  look  at  you,  I  can  see  the"  likeness! 
John  Vancourt!  Then — then — " 

Esther,  pale  and  wan,  did  not  smile,  did  not  appear  moved 
by  the  question  or  the  subject.  The  word  "  murder  "  rang 
in  her  ears,  filled  her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else.  Her  eyes  scarcely  left  Jack's  face,  she  seemed  fasci- 
nated by  his  presence,  and  by  the  horror  of  the  charge  which 
hung  over  him. 

Jack  made  a  little  gesture  which  was  habitual  with  him 
when  he  was  flustered  and  bewildered;  it  was  something  like 
the  shake  of  the  Newfoundland  when  he  comes  out  of  the 
water. 

"  Time  enough  to  talk  about  that,  sir,"  he  said.  '*  For 
the  moment  I  have  to  go  and  clear  a  girPs  character  from  a 
cruel  and  wicked  aspersion." 

He  inclined  his  head  to  Esther  and  strode  out.  At  the  door 
he  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Floss  steadily. 

"  I  shall  be  in  the  village — if  I'm  wanted,"  he  said,  sig- 
nificantly. 

And  no  one  offered  to  stop  him,  but  all  watched  him  as  he 
crossed  the  hall  and  passed  through  the  excited  and  mutter- 
ing crowd  to  Transom's  cottage. 


CHAI»TEK  XLI. 

JACK  strode  across  the  lawn  and  park  and  through  the  vil- 
lage towards  the  Transoms'.  To  say  that  he  was  not  upset 
and  concerned  by  the  charge  of  murder  of  which  Mr.  Floss 
had  informed  him,  would  be  an  exaggeration;  but  he  was  not 
overwhelmed  by  it,  or  even  very  much  alarmed. 

The  first  thought  of  every  man,  when  he  is  accused  of  a 
crime  of  which  he  is  innocent,  is  that  he  will  very  soon  and 
easily  be  able  to  prove  his  m.-ocence;  and  Jack  was  not  very 
easily  frightened. 

To  tell  the  truth,  his  mind,  as  he  strode  along,  was  much 
more  occupied  with  Esther  and  her  position  than  with  him- 
self and  the  charge  which  hung  over  him.  What  would  she 
do:  would  she  insist  upon  leaving  the  Towers,  would  she  re» 
fuse,  formally  and  haughtily,  to  receive  a  nroper — Jack 
thon&kt  that  a  half.  or.  say,  two-thirds  of  hh«  inmm*  iromt 


ttWE,  THE  TYBAJST.  837 

the  estates  would  be  '*  proper  " — sum  as  allowance  or  com- 
pensation from  him?  And  would  she  marry  Selby  Laytoa? 

Jack  had  never  been  very  fond  of  that  gentleman,  but  this 
morning  he  felt  very  much  like  hating  him. 

As  he  neared  the  cottage  he  heard  Transom's  voice  raised 
in  an  angry  and  bullying  tone,  and  as  he  went  up  the  garden 
path  he  heard  him  exclaim. 

"  And  where  is  he?  If  it's  true,  and  I  ain't  been  deceived, 
why  don't  he  show  himself?" 

"  Meaning  me?  Good-morning!  How  are  you?"  said 
Jack,  enterinsr  and  looking  round  cheerfully. 

Kate  was  sitting  in  a  chair  with  her  bands  clasped  and  her 
head  downcast.  Miss  Woods  was  standing  by  the  window  iu 
an  apologetic  attitude,  and  Transom  was  in  the  Englishman's 
favourite  position  in  front  of  the  fire-place,  one  hand  thrust 
in  his  pocket,  the  other  swinging  in  the  air  in  an  accusing 
fashion.  At  sight  of  Jack  he  stopped  and  looked  at  him  with 
a  curious  mixture  of  reproach  and  respect.  At  Jack's  en- 
trance Kate  had  looked  up  for  a  moment,  then  her  head  had 
drooped  still  lower. 

"  What's  the  meaning  o'  this?"  enquired  Transom  in  a 
deeply  injured  voice.  "  'Ere's  my  gal  come  back — my  gal 
as  you  took  away,  Mr.  Gordon — " 

"  Hold  on,  Transom,"  said  Jack,  calmly  and  gravely; 
"  don't  let  us  have  any  mistakes.  Miss  Transom  did  not  go 
awav  with  me.  I  happened  to  meet  her  in  London,  where 
she  ha^  lost  herself  and  was  without  friends,  and  I  took  her 
to  some  friends  of  mine;  one  of  them  stands  there — " 

"That's  all  very  well!"  sai'd  Transom,  complainingly. 
"But  my  gal's  character  has  gone — " 

"  Father!"  broke  from  Kate's  lips  in  an  anguish  of 
wounded  pride  and  humiliation. 

"  You  keep  jour  mouth  shut  as  becomes  you — contradictin* 
your  own  father!"  admonished  Transom.  "  Her  character's 
gone — everyone  in  the  place  says  as  you  took  her  away — " 

"  Everybody  lies,  then,"  said  Jack,  grimly. 

— "  An v how,  that's  what  they  say;  and  as  a  father  I  asks 
you  if  you're  willing  to  marry  her — " 

Jack  looked  at  her  downcast  face  with  a  curious  intentness. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

Kate  started,  the  blood  mounted  to  her  face  and  she  ut- 
tered a  little  cry,  then  the  colour  fled  again  and  she  hung  her 
head. 

*'  That's  all  nVM!"  exclaimed  Transom,  with  something 
Xke  triumnh  and  exultation  in  his  tones.  "  That.'a  what  I 


338  LOVE, 'THE  TYRANT. 

call  behavin'  like  a  gentleman;  and  a  gentleman  I  always 
said  you  was!*' 

"  Thank  you!"  said  Jack,  drily;  "  but  you  did  not  wait 
for  the  end  of  my  reply.  I  am  more  than  ready  to  marry 
Kate,  if  she'll  do  me  the  honour  of  accepting  me,  but — " 

"  But?  There  ain't  no  buts!"  broke*in  Transom,  loudly. 
"  You've  made  your  offer,  here  before  witnesses — don't  you 
forget  that,  Mr.  Gordon!  Here's  this  lady  heard  you  dis- 
tinctly— but  you're  not  the  one  to  go  back  from  a  promise, 
you'll  stand  by  your  word." 

"  That's  all  right/'  said  Jack,  taking  Kate's  hand;  but  she 
drew  hers  away,  after  a  piteous  little  look  at  him;  "  but  I'm 
afraid  neither  she  nor  you  will — and  for  the  matter  of  that 
ought  not  to — give  your  consent  when  you  hear  that  I'm  not 
at  all  a  desirable  husband." 

At  this  point,  as  if  she  felt  herself  too  much  de  trop,  Miss 
Woods  stole  softly  out  of  the  room  and  up  the  stairs. 

"  Why  ain't  you  desirable?"  demanded  Transom,  suspi- 
ciously. "  You  take  his  hand,  Kate.  Don't  you  be  a  fool, 
my  gel!  Your  father  knows  what's  best  for  you,  and  Mr. 
Gordon  has  offered  himself  before  witnesses.  What  do  you 
mean  by  not  bein'  desirable?"  he  broke  off,  sharply. 

While  he  had  been  speaking  Jack  had  seen  some  persons 
coming  up  the  path.  He  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Floss  and 
Coverdale  and  Selby  Layton,  with  a  small  crowd  at  the  back, 
amongst  whom  was  the  village  constable;  but  he  had  also 
seen  the  girlish  figure  of  Esiher  walking  beside  Mr.  Floss, 
and»he  had  instantly  no  eyes  for  anyone  but  her.  She  was 
very  white,  and  there  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  which  smote  him 
to  the  heart,  the  expression  of  dread  and  terror  which  always 
seems  so  poignant  in  a  woman's  face.  Was  the  dread,  the 
terror' on  his  account,  because  he  was  in  danger? 

Jack  nodded  towards  them  as  they  came  up  to  the  door. 

"  They'll  tell  you,  Transom!"  he  said. 

Transom  stared  at  the  group  open-mouthed,  but  Kate 
sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  low  cry,  and  extended  her  hand  to- 
wards Jack  as  if  she  would  protect  him. 

"  What's  to  do?"  stammered  Transom. 

Mr.  Floss  gave  him  a  nod. 

"  We  want  to  speak  with  this  gentleman.  Mr.  Gordon,  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  nave  to — to  proceed  against  you." 

Coverdale  stepped  forward  with  an  apologetic  gesture. 

"  Vancourt,  can't  you  clear  up  this  mystery?"  he  said. 
"  We've  been  talking  it  over  as  we  came  along,  and  we,  none 
of  ws,  believe  that  you  are  guilty.  Come!  I  know  yon  can 


LOVE,  THE  TTRAOT.  339 

be  obstinate  wnen  yon  like —  Ask  Vancourt  to  give  yon  an 
explanation,  to  tell  you  where  he  was  that  night,  Mr.  Floss," 
he  broke  off,  appealing  to  the  old  lawyer. 

Mr.  Floss  frowned. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  ask  this  gentleman  for  an  explanation, 
an  account  of  his  actions,  Mr.  Coverdale.  And  I  must  take 
exception,  I  most  strongly  object,  to  your  addressing  him  as 
Sir  John  Vancourt.  There  is  no  proof  of  his  claim — " 

"  I've  made  no  claim,"  said  Jack,  coolly;  "  but  let  that 


Mr.  Floss  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 

"  No  proof  of  his  identity  with  Sir  Richard's  nephew 
heir  beyond  your  recognition  of  him." 

Transom's  mouth  had  opened  wide,  as  he  listened  and 
looked  from  one  to  the  other;  then  he  came  a  step  forward 
and  held  up  his  hand  to  attract  attention;  and  he  got  it 
speedily  enough,  for  everybody  stared  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  Hold  on,  Mr.  Floss! —  Mr.  Gordon,  I  understand  as  you 
offer  yourself  to  my  daughter  Kate?" 

Jack,  with  eyes  carefully  averted  from  the  beautiful  face 
near  him,  went  up  to  Kate's  side. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Very  well,  then.  You  all  heard  that!"  cried  Transom. 
"  Then  hear  me!  There's  somebody  else  as  knows  this  gen- 
tleman, Mr.  Floss,  and  that's  me!  I  declare  him  to  be  the 
missing  Sir  John  Vancourt,  Baronite,  as  was  supposed  to  be 
killed  at  the  bush  near  Wally  Ford!  Oh,  yes,  you  may  start 
and  frown,  Mr.  Floss,  sir;  but  it  can't  stop  me;  and  the 
knowin'  that  I  may  be  doin'  myself  an  injury  slia'n't  stop  me 
neither.  How  do  I  know  as  he  is  Sir  John?  Because  I  was 
one  of  the  gang  that  attacked  the  hut — mind  you,  I  wasn't  in 
the  robbery  itself,  nor  concerned  in  the — the  murder.  I  was 
outside  the  hut  scouting — 'ad  been  outside  for  hours;  and  it 
was  me  that  run  in  and  give  notice  of  the  police.  Mr.  Gor- 
don— beg  his  pardon!  Sir  John  here — will  remember!" 

Jack  regarded  him  in  astonished  silence,  and  Transom, 
with  evident  enjoyment  of  the  situation,  notwithstanding  hia 
complicity  with  the  rangers,  went  on: 

"  Scoutin'  outside  the  hut,  I  heard  every  word  as  passed 
between  the  two  gentlemen;  I  heard  the  newsnaper  read,  and 
Mr.  Gordon — that's  not  this  gentleman — tellin*  Mr.  Burton 
about  his  sister.  This  gentleman's  name  was  Arthur  Burton; 
that  I  can  swear — " 

Harry  Coverdale  nodded. 

— "  And  for  some  reason  or  other  he  changed  names  when 


340  DOVE,  THE  TYRA1ST. 

his  chum  was  killed,  and  deceived  the  police.  1  »dCGg3issd 
him  when  I  saw  him  in  the  Vancourt  woods:  yon  remember 
the  night,  Mr.  Gordon — I  beg  pardon,  Sir  John?  The  nignt 
Kate  come  up — " 

Jack  nodded. 

— *'  And  I  says  to  myself,  '  This  'ere's  the  ngntiul  heir, 
this  is  the  proper  Sir  John — '  ' 

"  Why  did  you  not  say  so  publicly?"  demanded  Mr.  Floss, 
sternly. 

Transom  shook  his  head. 

"  'Twasn't  for  me  to  speak  when  my  betters  was  holdin* 
their  tongues,"  he  replied,  shrewdly.  "  And  I  was  afeared — 
you  see,  I  was  mixed  up  with  the  gang;  but  Sir  Jolin'li  see  I 
don't  come  to  no  harm;  besides,  it  wasu  t  no  business  of 
mine — then;  it  is  now,  seein's  Sir  John's  goin'  to  marry  my 
gel!" 

He  looked  round  with  an  air  of  pride  and  satisfaction;  bat 
a  low  cry  from  Kate  startled  them  all.  She  had  risen  and. 
stood  upright,  almost  proudly  indeed. 

"  It  is  not  true!"  she  said.  "  He — he  is  not  going  to 
mar**/  nie.  l — I  refuse!" 

Transom  uttered  an  oath,  and  seized  her  arm. 
'  What!     Hold  your  tongue,  you — you  huzzy!     Eefuse!" 

"  Let  me  go,  father!"  she  panted.  "  Yes,  I  refuse!  He 
has  never  said  a  word —  Oh,  I  can't  go  on!  But  I  refuse, 
refuse!  1  would  rather  die  than  let  him  sacrifice—  I  know 
why  he  a^ked  me.  Because  you  have  all  believed  that — that 
—he  took  me  away.  It's  not  true!" 

"  Why  did  you  go,  then?"  thundered  her  father.  "  An- 
swer me,  you — you  unnatural  gel,  why  did  you  go?" 

"  That  will  do,  Transom!"  said  Jack,  grimly;  and  he  went 
up  to  Kate  and  took  her  hand. 

"  The  saciifice  would  be  on  your  part,  Kate,  not  mine,  for, 
as  Mr.  Floss  will  tell  you,  I  am  accused  of  murder." 

Sne  uttered  a  cry  and  sprang  to  her  father,  but  he  thrust 
her  from  him. 

"  What's  that?"  he  growled,  savagely.  "  Murder?  Who's 
murdered?" 

Mr.  Floss  was  watching  him. 

"  The  man  you  met  here,  on  a  certain  Tuesday,  Transom; 
his  body  has  been  found  in  the  Hawk's  PooL" 

Transom  started  and  glared  at  Jack. 

"  I  know  him!  And  I  can  tell  you  who  did  it!  Yes,  it 
was  him!"  He  pointed  to  Jack,  who  leant  against  the  man- 
tel-shelf with  folded  anus  his  eyes  fixed  on  Esther.  u  Tiie 


HOVE,  THE  TYRANt 

man  was  the  leader  o*  the  gang.  I  met  him,  as  Mr.  Fioss 
Bays,  gentlemen;  and  what's  more,  I  warned  him  agen  Mr. 
Gordon — that  is,  Sir  John  Vancourt;  for  it  was  him,  Denzil, 
as  killed  Sir  John's  chum  in  the  hut,  and  would  V  shot  Sir 
John.  There  was  an  old  grudge  at  ween  them,  the  bitterest  o' 
bad  blood,  and  Denzil  hisself  said  that  if  they  met — " 

Mr.  Floss  held  up  his  hand — he  had  not  been  able  to  stop 
him  before. 

"  Be  careful,  Transom;  you  will  be  required  to  repeat  this 
before  the  magistrate. " 

"  So  I  will!"  retorted  Transom,  looking  round.  His  furi- 
ous glance  rested  on  Kate,  and  he  seized  her  by  the  arm  and 
dragged  her  forwards.  "  And  here's  one  as  can  give  evi- 
dence, too.  By  God!  I  see  it  all  now;  I  understand!  She 
went  off  because  she  knows  some'ut  about  it!  She  met  Mr. 
Gordon — she  was  in  the  wood  that  night — and  went  off  be- 
cause she  know'd  some'ut.  Speak  out,  you — !" 

He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  strike  her,  but  Jack  seized  his 
arm  and  swung  him  round,  and  Kate  fell  into  a  chair  and  bid 
her  face  in  her  arms,  flung  out  on  the  table. 

There  was  an  awful  silence.  It  was  broken  by  Selby 
Lay  ton. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  case  looks  very  bad,"  he  said,  as  if  in- 
voluntarily. "  I  have  just  heard  that  she  obtained  this  man'a 
gun,  which  one  of  the  game-keepers  found  up  against  a  tree 
near  the  Hawk's  Pool — obtained  it  under  the  pretence  that  it 
belonged  to  Dick  Reeve.  That  is  so,  Johnson?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  the  under-keeper,  who  was  hovering  at  the  edge  of 
the  crowd.  Johnson  nodded  reluctantly,  and  drew  still  far- 
ther back.  "  Then  we  have  the  fact  that  he  went  off  that 
night,  disappeared  without  any  reason,"  continued  Selby  Lay- 
ton,  smoothly.  Then  he  stopped  as  if  he  felt  he  had  gone 
too  far,  for  Esther  had  shrunk  from  him.  "  But  perhaps 
Mr.  Gordon — Sir  John — can  explain?" 

Jack  leant  against  the  mantel-shelf  with  l;.?  d,rms  folded. 
He  was  pale,  but  his  eyes  flashed  round  upon  the  crowd  that 
now  clustered  about  the  door  and  over  the  threshold. 

"  I've  no  explanation  to  offer,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  and  if  I 
iad.  there  is  no  one  here  who  would  believe  me. 

Kate  raised  her  head;  bat  it  was  Esther  who  stepped  out 
and  stood  beside  him  with  head  erect,  and  eyes  that  flashed 
even  more  indignantly  than  his  own. 

"  Yes,  there  is  one!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  with 
thrilling  distinctness.  "  7  believe  you.  I  would  answer  for 
y0or  innocence  with  Day  life!" 


342  LOYE,  THE  TYRANT. 

Instinctively  she  held  out  her  hand,  and  as  Instruct- 
ively he  grasped  it. 

"  Thank  you!" 

A  commonplace  response  enough,  but  the  tone  in  which  it 
was  spoken,  the  look  that  accompanied  it,  brought  the  blood 
to  her  face  and  set  her  heart  leaping  with  the  passionate  love 
with  which  it  o'er-welled. 

Selby  Layton  moved  towards  them,  his  face  pale,  his  under- 
lip  twisted. 

"  Esther!"  he  exclaimed,  reproachfully. 

She  turned  upon  him,  as  if  his  presence,  his  word  of  re- 
proach, were  the  last  straw. 

"  It  is  true!  I  do  believe  him  innocent!  I  say  so  now,  I 
will  say  it  even  if — to  the  end!" 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  stir  in  the  crowd  which,  mur- 
muring excitedly,  made  way  for  two  men  who  had  approached 
unobserved.  One  of  them  was  Dick  Reeve — pale  and  wan, 
the  other  a  gentlemanly  looking  individual  with  a  singularly 
cool  and  self-possessed  air. 

Ab  sight  of  Dick  Reeve,  Selby  Layton  flushed  and  seemed 
uncertain  what  to  say  or  do  for  a  moment;  and  he  drew  back 
as  the  gentleman  who  accompanied  Reeve  entered  the  cot- 
tage, and  looking  round,  said: 

"  Mr.  Floss?" 

"  I  am  Mr.  Floss,"  said  the  old  lawyer. 

"  Thank  you,  sir;  my  name's  Bowler — Scotland  Yard—" 

Mr.  Floss  nodded. 

— "  Come  about  this  murder,  sir." 

"  How  did  you  hear  of  it?"  asked  Mr.  Floss,  with  fierce 
suspicion. 

The  detective  jerked  his  head  toward  Dick  Reeve,  who 
stood  looking  before  him  moodily. 

"  This  man  made  a  statement  at  the  hospital.  They  sent  for 
me,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  I  brought  him  down." 

Selby  Layton  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  watched  from  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  Dick  Reeve's  moody  face.  The  hour  of 
his  triumph  was  at  hand.  Already  the  evidence  against  this 
man  Gordon — this  Sir  John,  who  had  turned  up  to  rob  Esther 
.>f  Vancourt  —  was  black  enough;  Dick  Reeve's  evidence 
would  make  it  damning. 

"  What  is  the  statement?"  asked  Mr.  Floss. 

"  You  are  a  magistrate,  and  can  grant  me  a  warrant?" 
asked  the  detective;  and  Mr.  Floss  nodded.  "  Well,  sir,  this 
man,  Richard  Reeve,  was  witness  of  a  murder  on  Tuesday  the 
seventh  of  last  month,  at  a  place  called  Hawk's  Pool." 


10VE,  THE  TYEA1ST.  843 

There  was  a  murmur  of  excitement.  Jack  stood  upright 
and  looked  steadily  at  Reeve,  whose  face  was  still  downcast, 
but  bore  an  expression  of  sullen  determination,  which  reas- 
sured Selby  Lay  ton. 

Mr.  Floss  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  The  accused  is  here,  Mr.  Bowler,*'  he  said.  "  You  can 
arrest  him." 

A  cry  rose  from  Kate,  but  Esther,  the  other  woman  who 
loved  him,  uttered  no  sound.  Mr.  Floss  indicated  Jack  with 
a  motion  of  his  hand;  and  the  detective  went  up  to  him. 

"  I  arrest  you  on  a  charge  of  wilful  murder,  Se.by  Lay- 
ton,"  he  said,  gravely. 

A  hoarse  murmur  went  up;  the  crowd,  though  it  had  not 
caught  the  name,  understood  that  an  arrest  was  taking  place 
and  pressed  forward.  Only  one  or  two  of  those  nearest  tha 
principal  actors  in  the  dramatic  scene  had  caught  the  con- 
cluding words;  and  they  were  transfixed  by  astonishment. 
Selby  La)  ton  was  for  the  moment  too  amazed,  too  over- 
whelmed, to  move;  for  a  moment  only,  then  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  which  lends  wits  to  the  dullest — and  he  was 
by  no  means  the  dullest — arose  in  him.  With  a  quick  but 
noiseless  movement  he  drew  back  as  if  to  keep  the  crowd  from 
entering,  then  slipped  in  amongst  them  and  through  them. 

Mr.  Floss  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  What  do  you  say?"  he  demanded,  crimson  with  astonish- 
ment. "  What  did  you  call  him?" 

"  One  of  his  numerous  aliases,  I  daresay,"  said  the  detect- 
ive, coolly.  "  Selby  Layton.  But  you'll  answer  to  that 
name,  I  suppose?" 

"  Certainly  not!"  retorted  Jack,  grimly.  "  I  should  pre- 
fer any  other.  My  name  happens  to  be  John  Vancourt — or 
Jack  Gordon — whichever  you  prefer." 

"  I  told  you  he'd  have  an  alias  or  two!"  said  the  detective 
to  Mr.  Floss,  with  a  dry  smile. 

Voices  from  the  crowd  pressing  etill  nearer: 

"  That's  not  Mr.  Layton!"  "  That's  Mr.  Gordonl"  Mr. 
Layton  was  here  a  minute  ago — where's  he  gone?" 

The  detective  looked  slightly  confused. 

"  What's  that?"  he  said,  reddening  and  turning  sharply. 

"  Is  it  not  Mr.  Gordon  you  want  to  arrest?"  asked  Mr. 
Floes,  in  amazement. 

"  Certainly  not!  Unlass  he  is  also  Selby  Layton!"  re- 
torted the  detective,  rather  brusquelv.  "  I  wann  tin;  Selby 
Layton  who  was  staying  at  the  Towers." 

To  the  surprise  of  everyone  Selby  Layton'a  Taice  cam? 


344  1MVK,   THE  TYBANT. 

from  the  back  of  the  crowd.     He  had  seen  two  policemen  3D 

the  lane  and  had  quietly  turned  back. 

"  That  is  my  name/'  he  said,  with  <»u  assumption  of  COUP 
temptuous  indifference. 

The  detective  swung  round  upon  him. 

"  I  arrest  you,  Mr,  Layton!"  he  said. 

"Your  warrant!"  demanded  Selby  Layton,  with  a  sang* 
froid  which  impressed  everyone  but  Dick  Reeve,  who  stood 
watching  the  scene  in  moody  silence. 

Mr.  Bowler  slipped  between  Selby  and  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Floss  will  make  that  out/'  he  said,  nodding  to  the 
old  lawyer.  As  he  spoke  he  took  some  papers  from  his 
pocket.  "  Here  is  my  prima-facie  evidence,  sir.  These—- 
this agreement  and  photograph,  and  the  styo)  graphic  pen, 
Which  has  Mr.  Selby  Layton's  initials,  were  found  near  the 
spot.  A  cheque  drawn  by  Mr.  Selby  Layton  was  in  the  pocket 
oi  the  murdered  man." 

A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  Esther 
shrank  back  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

But  Selby  Layton  seemed  unmoved.  The  terror  which 
clutched  at  his  iieart  nerved  him  to  a  desperate  defiance. 

"  I  do  not  deny  the  statement.  The  pen  is  mine,  the 
agreement  was  drawn  up  by  the  deceased.  I  met  him  at  the 
Hawk's  Pool—'' 

"  Silence!"  said  Mr.  Floss,  sternly,  as  the  murmuring  of 
the  excited  crowd  almost  drowned  the  admission. 

"  The  man  was  named  Denzil  May  hew,  and  he  was  my 
brother-in-law.  He  applied  to  me  for  assistance — not  for  the 
first  time;  and,  as  you  see,  I  was  willing  to  help  him.  He 
confessed  that  my  wife,  his  sister,  was  dead,  that  the  letter 
was  a  forgery.  Naturally,  I  did  not  wish  my  connection  with 
him  to  be  known."  He  had  got  thus  far,  delivering  the  ex- 
planation slowly  and  with  absolute  self-possession,  when  the 
spectators  were  startled  by  a  cry  coming  from  the  end  of  the 
room,  and  every  eye  turned  to  the  trembling  figure  of  Miss 
Woods,  where  she  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  gazing  at 
Selby  Layton.  He  saw  her,  his  face  went  white,  and  hia 
fluent  tongue  stopped  suddenly. 

She  raised  her  nand  and  pointed  to  him,  gasping  % 

"  My  husband!" 

At  this  fresh  development  of  the  mystery  the  spectators 
vere  struck  silent.  The  detective  was  the  first  to  recover. 
He  swung  round  to  Dick  Eeeve. 

"  You  stand  by  your  statement,  Eeeve?"  he  asked,  sharply 

Reave 


JXJVE,  THE  TYRAUT.  345 

"  Yes.    I  saw  him  do  it.    He  "knows  it.    Is  was  Hm  aa 

put  me  np  to  shifting  it  on  Mr.  Gordon.  I  thought  he'd 
taken  Kate  away:  I  know  better  now.  And — and  he  saved 
my  life.  I  saw  Mr.  Selby  Lay  ton  strike  the  blow  with  my 
own  eyes,  I  saw  him  tow  the  body  into  the  lake." 

Moved  by  some  instinct,  Jack  strode  to  Esther,  took  her  by 
the  arm  and  drew — one  might  almost  write  "  dragged  " — . 
her  outside. 

"  Come  away!"  he  said;  and,  as  if  powerless  to  resist,  she 
let  him  lead  her  through  the  crowd  and  into  the  lane.  He 
drew  her  arm  through  his  and  supported  her. 

"  Don't  speak!"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  will  take  you  to 
the  Towers — don't  be  afraid — you  shall  do  what  you  like,  go 
where  you  like — anywhere  away  from  here.  My  poor  girl!" 

The  last  words,  breathed  rather  than  spoken,  with  an  in* 
finity  of  tenderness  and  pity,  broke  her  down,  and  with  a  cry 
she  sank  fainting  into  his  arms.  Palmer,  with  a  forethought 
which  spoke  plainly  of  his  care  of  his  young  mistress,  had  sent 
a  carriage,  and  Jack  carried  her  to  where  it  stood  waiting  and 
put  her  in. 

As  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  pistol-shot  ring  out  sharply.  He 
hesitated  a  moment  and  looked  back;  then  he  entered  the 
carriage,  and,  still  supporting  her,  cried  "  Home!"  to  the 
coachman.  The  horses  started,  but  before  they  had  gone  far, 
Harry  Ooverdale  came  tearing  down  the  road,  and,  laying 
hold  of  the  handle  of  the  carriage  door,  panted: 

"  Lay  ton  has  shot  himself!  He's  dead!  Can  I  do  any- 
thing,  Vaucourt?" 

Jack  nodded. 

'  Yes;  help  me  to  keep  it  from  her!"  he  repiled,  huskily, 
"  Stand  by  me,  Coverdale  for  God's  sake!" 

Coverdale  pressed  his  hand,  and  nodded  and  dropped  back. 


CHAPTEE  XLH. 

FIFTEEN  months  later  Sir  John  Vanconrt,  Lord  Fanworth, 
and  Harry  Coverdale  were  seated  at  an  early  breakfast  at  the 
Towers;  early  because  the  hounds,  of  which  Jack  was  now 
the  master,  were  to  meet  at  half-past  eight  sharp,  at  Crichett 
Cross. 

The  tragedy  that  had  happened  fifteen  months  ago  nad  left 
its  mark  on  Jack.  He  was  thinner,  the  hair  on  his  temples 
Was  silvered,  and  there  was  a  certain  abstracted  and  moody 
^X>k  in  his  eves  which  had  not  been  there  before  the  discovery 


346  IOVE,   THE  TYRAKT.^ 

of  the  murder  at  Hawk's  Pool  and  his  installatioa  as  ownec 
of  Vancourt  Towers. 

The  least  observant  of  men  would  have  seen  that  Sir  John 
Vancourt  was  anything  but  a  happy  man,  but  everyone  ad- 
mitted that  he  did  not  wear  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve,  or  go 
About  the  world  complaining  of  his  infelicity. 

"  The  Mystery  of  Vancourt  Towers,"  as  it  was  called  by 
the  newspapers,  had  long  ago  been  completely  cleared  up, 
and  everyone  knew  the  story  of  Jack's  self-sacrifice  and  Selby 
Layton's  villainy;  and  Jack  had,  without  opposition,  stepped 
into  his  own  amidst  a  concensus  of  approval  and  admiration; 
but  though  he  was  now  the  most  popular  man  in  the  county, 
and  took  his  full  share  of  the  pleasures  and  responsibilities  be- 
longing to  his  position,  everyone  knew  that  there  was  a  blank 
in  his  life  which  no  position,  however  exalted,  no  wealth, 
however  vast,  could  fill.  For  there  had  not  only  been  a  mys- 
tery and  a  tragedy,  but  a  romance. 

A  man  like  Jack  loves  but  once  in  his  life,  and  he  had  given 
this  one  love  of  his  life  to  Esther.  And  every  hour  of  the  day, 
the  fact  that,  while  he  was  reigning  at  the  Towers,  sur- 
rounded by  every  luxury,  the  girl  he  loved  and  longed  for  was 
earning  her  living  in  grimy  Islington  as  a  music-mistress, 
haunted  him.  For  Jack  had  kept  his  word,  the  word  he  had 
pledged  to  her  the  day  Selby  Layton  had  cut  the  Gordian 
knot  by  shooting  himself,  and  let  her  go  almost  without  a 
murmur  of  remonstrance.  He  was  wise  enough — though  by 
no  means  a  Solomon — to  know  that  it  was  his  only  course; 
that  her  wounded  pride  would  resent,  with  a  fierce  and  bitter 
resentment,  any  offer  of  help  from  him,  any  offer  of  friend- 
ship. 

It  was  hard  to  bear,  and  it  must  be  said  to  his  credit  that 
he  bore  it  very  well.  Once  or  twice  he  had  written  to  Misa 
Worcester  begging  her  to  intercede  for  him,  but  a  wailing  let- 
ter came  back  telling  him  that  any  attempts  at  mediation 
were  futile.  Esther,  in  her  pride,  remained  impregnable. 
Not  only  would  she  accept  no  assistance  from  Sir  John  Van- 
court,  but  she  declined  to  hold  any  communication  with  him. 
It  was  hard,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Jack  sighed  for 
the  grand,  old  days  when  one  could  carry  off  the  obstinate 
woman  one  loved;  but  those  days  have  gone,  and  he  had  to 
make  the  best  of  it.  He  worked  hard:  there  is  plenty  of 
work  for  the  owner  of  such  an  estate  as  Vancourt;  and  Jack 
fell  upon  it  as  he  used  to  fall  upon  the  crates  and  bales  in  the 
docks. 

He  built  lows  of  model  cottages,  pat  the  newest  machinery 


LOVE,  THE  TYSAKT.  347 

into  the  farms,  drained  the  marshes — and  that  accursed  pool 
— which  is  now  a  rich  meadow  unshadowed  by  a  "  single 
tree."  He  started  men's  institutes,  erected  palatial  schools, 
restored  the  church,  hunted  the  hounds — in  short,  did  every- 
thing and.  anything  which  he  could  find  to  do;  and  tried  to 
cheat  his  heart  with  the  belief  that  he  was  amusing  himself. 

But  Heaven!  how  the  days  and  weeks  and  months  dragged'. 
How  many  were  the  times  when  he  was  on  the  point  of  re- 
solving that  he  would  chuck  the  whole  thing,  turn  the  Tow- 
ers into  a  hospital  for  incurables,  and  go  back  to  the  old  life 
m  the  bush. 

But,  as  has  been  said,  he  did  not  wear  his  heart  on  his 
sleeve,  and  only  such  intimate  friends  as  Fanworth  and 
Coverdale  guessed  how  "  bitter  bad  "  was  the  savour  of  Sir 
John  Vancourt's  life.  On  this  morning,  for  instance,  he  was 
cheerful  enough  and  talked  brightly  of  the  chances  of  a  run. 
'  It  will  be  rather  heavy  going,"  remarked  Lord  Fanworth, 
as  he  helped  himself  liberally  to  ham  and  eggs.  "  There  must 
have  been  a  deuce  of  a  rain  in  the  night.*' 

"  Morning,"  corrected  Jack,  absently.  "  Half-past  three." 

Coverdale  glanced  at  him  quickly:  insomnia  was  one  of  the 
pleasing  results  of  Jack's  "  trouble,"  though  he  said  nothing 
about  it,  and  only  let  it  out  unwittingly,  as  now. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  ride,  Vancourt?"  asked  Fan- 
worth,  when  they  had  exhausted  the  weather  prospects. 

"  The  chestnut,"  answered  Jack,  without  looking  up  from 
his  letters  which  he  was  hastily  reading. 

Lord  Fanworth's  eyebrows  went  up. 

"  Rather  tiresome  in  the  slush,  isn't  he?"  he  remarked. 

Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right,"  he  said,  carelessly;  then,  as  Cover- 
dale  rose  to  follow  Fanworth  to  the  stable,  Jack  signed  to 
him  to  stop. 

"  Here's  a  letter  from  Australia,"  he  said,  very  quietly. 
"  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know.  They've  had  a  good  shear- 
ing, and  things  are  looking  well  with  them. 

"  Who  writes  it?"  asked  Coverdale,  with  interest. 

"  Miss  Woods,"  replied  Jack,  for  the  wife  Selby  Layton 
had  deserted,  and  widowed  by  his  own  hand,  still  bore  the 
name  she  had  been  known  by  in  Chase  Street.  '*  She  says 
that  they  are  all  well,  Kate  especially;  and  they  have  had  * 
Tisitor  lately." 

"  Oh,  who's  that?" 

"  Dick  Bwvel" 


848  LO\TE,   THE  TYBALT. 

Coverdale  nodded  significantly,  and  Jack  read,  in  the  eame 
L?W  voice,  from  the  letter  in  his  hand: 

"  *  Don't  be  surprised,  Sir  John,  if  in  my  next  letter  I  tell 
yon  of  a  wedding.  Dick  Reave  has  changed  so  much  that 
you  would  scarcely  know  him.  He  works  very  hard  on  his 
ranch,  and  he  has  quite  lost  that  wild  and  reckless  look.  He 
has  been  with  us  ten  days,  and  he  and  Mr.  Transom  ride  out 
together  all  day  and  talk  sheep  all  the  evening.  Kate  sits  and 
works  and  listens  and  does  not  say  much;  but  jesterday  I 
found  her  and  Reeve  sitting  by  the  stable;  he  was  talking 
earnestly,  and  though  her  head  was  turned  from  him,  her 
face  was  flushed  and  there  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  which  we 
women  understand.  If  Dick  Reeve  keeps  steady  and  comes 
up  to  us  again  soon,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  have  to  write 
some  news  to  you.' ' 

Coverdale  nodded. 

"  That's  all  right,  Jack.  Your  scheme  will  pan  out  aa 
you  wanted  it,  you  see.  'Pon  my  word  you  ought  to  be  very 
much  gratified  at  being  permitted  to  play  at  Providence  in 
this  fashion!" 

Jack  sighed. 

"  Yes;  money  can  do  some  things,"  he  said.  "  Here's  an- 
other letter,"  he  smiled  as  he  glanced  at  it.  "  It  is  from  my 
friend,  Mordy  Jane.  They've  got  into  their  new  premises, 
and  she  says  everything  would  be  all  right — '  stunning '  she 
calls  it — if  her  father  wouldn't  insist  upon  doing  the  repairs 
in- the  back  shop  and  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  instead  of  waiting  on 
the  customers.  But  they  seem  to  be  flourishing — trust  Mordy 
Jane  for  that!" 

"  You  appear  to  have  the  happy  knack  of  making  your 
friends  happy,  Jack,"  said  Coverdale,  as  he  filled  his  sherry 
flask  at  the  sideboard;  "  it's  a  pity  they  can't  return  tho 
compliment  and  bring  you  some  happiness." 

Jack  frowned  and  laughed  shortly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  evasively. 

"  There's  nothing  from — from  Miss  Esther?"  Coverdate 
Tentnred  to  ask  as  Jack  shovelled  his  letters  together. 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing!"  he  said,  laconically.     "  Are  yon  ready?" 

They  started  soon  afterwards.  Coverdale  and  Fanworth 
chatting,  Jack  riding  a  little  in  front  in  the  silence  wmch  was 
now  so  habitual  with  him. 

Lord  Fanworth  looked  wistfully  ah  the  stalwart  figure  with 
its  bent  head  and  moodv  eyes. 


LOVE,  THE  TYBAHT.  349 

"  What  a  d  — -n  shame  it  is  that  such  a  man  should  have  his 
life  spoilt  by  the  vagary,  the  mulishness,  of  a  woman — a  mere 
girl!'*  he  said  to  Coverdale.  "  She  can  have  no  heart^ 
Harry." 

Coverdale  shook  his  head. 

"  Too  much,  sir,"  he  responded.  "  That's  the  trouble* 
It's  my  belief  that  she  cares  for  him  as  much  as  he  cares  for 
her,  that  she's  just  eating  her  heart  out,  there  in  that  beastly 
hole,  as  he  is  eating  his  here.  If  she  didn't  care  for  him, 
she'd  forgive  him  and  let  him  help  them.  It's  love  and 
pride—" 

"  Confounded  nonsense,  I  call  it,"  muttered  Lord  Fan- 
worth,  who  had  got  beyond  the  age  of  romance.  "  How  is  it 
going  to  end?  Why  doesn't  he  try  and  forget  her,  and  turn 
to  one  of  the  girls — I  know  three  of  'em,  at  any  rate! — who 
are  ready  to  jump  at  him." 

"  Jack  is  one  of  those  men  who  can't  forget,  yon  see,'* 
said  Coverdale.  "  And  mind  you,  sir,  it  wouldn't  be  easy  for 
any  man  who  once  loved  Esther  to  forget  her!  Here's  the 
home  farm:  he'll  stop  here — he  always  does:  never  passes  it 
without  a  word  with  the  child." 

Jack  had  pulled  up  at  the  gate,  and  Nettie  ran  out.  Jack 
leant  down,  and  helped  her  on  to  the  saddle  in  front  of  him 
—the  chestnut  being  used  to  the  performance,  offering  no  ob- 
jection— and  she  put  up  her  small,  childish  lips  for  her  ac- 
customed kiss. 

"  How  soon  are  you  going  to  take  me  hunting  with  you, 
Jack?"  she  asked,  eagerly.  "  I  can  ride  quite  well  now, 
you  know." 

**  Next  year,  if  you're  good,  Nettie,"  he  said,  smilingly: 
his  voice  was  always  brighter  when  he  spoke  to  her.  "  I'll 
look  out  for  a  nice,  quiet  little  pony  well  up  to  your  weight, 
and  we'll  have  some  trial  jumps  first,  and  then — " 

"  Next  year's  a  long  time,  she  said,  with  a  pout;  then, 
with  sudden  eagerness:  "  Oh,  Jack,  mother's  had  a  letter 
from  Miss  Vanconrt!" 

Jack's  face  changed  in  a  subtle  fashion. 

"  Oh,  and  what  did  she  say?"  he  asked,  with  assumed 
calmness. 

"  She  says  that  she's  very  happy,  but  that  it's  cold,  and 
she's  bud  sometimes  " — Jack  moved  in  the  saddle  as  if  ha 
had  winced — "  and  that  if  I'm  a  good  girl  I'm  to  go  and  stay 
with  her;  but  nearly  all  the  letter  was  full  of  questions- 
questions  about  the  Towers  and  you,  Jack,"  she  added,  cool* 


850  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

A  flash  passed  over  his  face. 

"  Do  you  think  your  mother  wouid  let  me  have  that  letter 
— just  to — to  read,  Nettie?" 

She  slid  down,  protected  by  his  hand,  and  ran  in  for  the 
letter. 

"  Here  it  is,  and  mother  says  you  can  keep  it,  Jack.  Kiss 
me  again,  and  take  care  how  you  jump,  won't  you,  Jack? 
Father  says  you  ride  so  careless  always." 

Jack  slipped  the  letter  in  the  breast  of  his  coat,  kissed  her, 
and  with  a  nod  and  a  smile  rode  on. 

The  meet  was  not  a  large  one,  for  the  rain  had  been  hard, 
and  people  funked  the  heavy  going  at  this  the  close  of  the 
season.  Jack  scarcely  spoke  to  anyone,  but,  thinking  of  the 
letter,  took  the  hounds  to  a  favourite  cover.  They  found 
almost  at  once,  and  "  the  stiff est  run  of  the  season  " — it  is 
always  the  stiffest  run  of  the  season — commenced.  The 
chestnut  was  fast,  and,  as  usual,  Jack  rode  somewhat  care- 
lessly, though  always  with  an  eye  to  his  business. 

The  fox  was  a  good  'un,  and  after  a  straight  spin  doubled 
at  a  place  called  Moorcroft,  and  headed  for  Trumpington 
Cleave.  There  was  a  nasty  timber  fence,  with  a  ditch  beyond 
right  in  the  line,  and  some  of  the  field  having  a  regard  for  the 
heavy  land,  funked  it  and  went  round;  but  Coverdale  and 
Jack  kept  a  bee-line.  Coverdale,  on  a  light  and  springy 
young  horse,  cleared  the  jump  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth,  and, 
congratulating  himself,  was  settling  in  his  saddle  and  riding 
on  when  he  heard  a  crash  behind  him,  and  turning,  saw  that 
Jack  was  down. 

"  Halloo,  Jack,  hurt?"  he  called  out.  There  was  no  an- 
swer, and  he  rode  back.  Jack  was  lying  near  the  broken  rail 
with  his  shoulder  under  the  struggling  chestnut;  and  the 
eyes  that  were  uplifted  to  the  sullen,  rainy  sky  were  sightless. 

Coverdale  knelt  beside  him  and  shouted  for  help,  and  some 
of  the  field  came  galloping  up.  With  them  was  a  pony-car- 
riage which  had  been  passing  in  the  lane,  and  they  placed 
Jack  in  it  and  drove  him  to  the  Towers  slowly  and  carefully. 

On  the  way  Coverdale  went  for  a  doctor.  They  two 
watched  beside  the  unconscious  Jack  through  the  night,  and 
when  the  dawn  came  Coverdale  saw  by  the  doctor's  face  that 
tilings  looked  serious. 

"  Is  there — do  you  mean  to  say  that  there's  any  danger?" 
he  asked,  with  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head,  but  answered  evasively. 

"  With  internal  injury  and  concussion  there  is  always  more 
fir  less  danger." 


LOVE,  THE  TYRANT,  351 

^  uood  God!"  exclaimed  Coverdale,  staring  at  the  white 
face  which  looked  strangely  wan  and  careworn  on  the  pillow. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that-—  Why,  he's  no  age,  and  as 
strong  as — as  a  horse!" 

* " '  Whom  the  gods  love — '  "  said  the  doctor,  sententiously 
but  sadly. 

Coverdale  went  down-stairs  and  communicated  the  sad 
news  to  the  group  of  waiting  men;  they  rode  off  mournfully, 
and  Coverdale  stood  at  the  window  biting  his  lips  for  a  few 
moments,  then  he  strode  off  to  the  telegraph  office.  When  he 
came  back  he  was  told  that  Jack  was  conscious  and  wished  to 
see  him,  and  he  went  up  with  the  hushed  step,  the  slow  gait, 
frhich  we  all  know  so  painfully  well. 

Jack  looked  round  and  nodded  as  he  entered. 

"  Glad  you've  stayed,  Coverdale,"  he  said,  with  the  smile 
which  had  won  so  many  hearts  for  him,  the  memory  of  which 
made  a  joy — and  a  torture — for  poor  Esther,  away  there  in 
Islington.  "  Doctor  seems  rather  down  on  his  luck;  says  I've 
injured  myself  in  some  part  with  a  long  Latin  name.  Funny, 
isn't  it,  to  be  knocked  over  by  a  bit  of  English  timber  and  a 
ditch,  after  riding  through  the  bush  for  so  many  years?  But 
I  suppose  he  knows;  and  I'd  better  prepare  to  hand  in  my 
checks.  Coverdale,  I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  give  you  some 
trouble:  I've  made  you  my  executor,  trustee." 

Coverdale  nodded. 

"  Let's  hope  I  sha'n't  be  needed  for  many  a  year,  old 
man!  Look  here,  Jack  " — with  a  sudden  gulp.  "  Don't 
talk  of  chucking  up  the  sponge!" 

"  Not  me!"  returned  Jack,  with  a  smile;  then  he  sighed. 
"  Not  that  I  care  to  keep  up  the  fight  any  longer.  I've  been 
knocked  out  for  some  time  past,  though  I've  kept  inside  the 
ropes  for — well,  just  to  play  the  game  out."  There  was  si- 
lence for  a  moment,  then  he  went  on:  "  Of  course,  I've  left 
everything  to  her,  Coverdale.  If  anything  happens  she'll  be 
mistress  of  Vancourt  again.  That's  a  pleasant  thought  for 
me  and  consoles  me  for  everything.  You'll  find  my  will  at 
Floss's,  and  everything's  straight  and  square.  Is  the  chest- 
nut much  hurt?" 

"  D — n  the  chestnut!"  growled  Coverdale  as  he  turned 
away.  "  No;  it's  all  right?' 

Jack  nodded. 

"  I  feel  like  sleep,"  he  said,  feebly.  "  If  you  wouldn't 
mind  staying — " 

Coverdale  sat  down  by  the  bed,  and  Jack  snoozed  for  a 
time,  with  his  hand  on  Bob's  head:  the  dog  scarcely  left  him. 


352  LOVE,  THE  TTRAJTT. 

After  some  hours,  he  woke  suddenly  with  a  name  on  nis 
Esther's;  and  he  looked  round  expectantly,  and  said  apolo- 
getically and  shamefacedly: 

"  Coverdale,  I  dreamt  she  had  come:  do  you  think  she 
would  if — if  you  asked  her — you,  you  know?  I  should  like 
to  say  good-bye — if  I'm  going!" 

Palmer  came  to  the  door  before  Coverdale  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  tell  him  of  the  telegram. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir;  but  Miss  Nettie's  down-stairs,  and  she 
do  carry  on  so,  that,  to  pacify  her,  I  said  I'd  come  upstairs 
and  ask — " 

Jack's  ears  were  sharp. 

"  Let  her  come  up,  JPalmer,"  he  said  in  the  strangely  low 
and  hollow  voice  with  which  he  had  spoken  since  the  accident. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Nettie  came  in.  Her  face  was  swollen 
with  tears  and  pale  with  grief,  but  she  ran  on  tiptoe  to  the 
bed  and  gently  put  her  arms  round  him. 

"  Oh,  Jack!"  was  all  she  could  say  in  a  kind  of  whisper. 
Jack  motioned  to  her,  and  she  got  upon  the  bed  and  nestled 
up  beside  him,  crying  noiselessly. 

"  Don't  cry,  Nettie!"  he  said,  smoothing  her  hair  and 
looking  at  her  with  a  half-regretful  smile. 

"  But  I  can't  help  it,  though  I  did  promise!  Oh,  you  said 
you'd  be  careful!" 

"  So  I  did;  but — I  forgot.  Never  mind;  I  shall  be  all 
right  presently." 

"  Is  it  as  painful  as  the  measles,  Jack?"  she  whispered. 

"  Not  half  as  much,"  he  replied,  promptly.  "  And  it 
won't  last  nearly  so  long.  Do  you  remember  how  I  used  to 
carry  you?" 

"Oh,  yes — yes.  But  1  can't  carry  you,  when  you're  get- 
ing  well,  Jack;  you're  ever  so  much  too  big.  That's  what 
makes  me  feel  so  bad — I  can't  do  anything  for  you." 

Jack  pretended  to  think  deeply  for  a  moment. 

"  I  think  1  should  like  to  have  '  Jack  and  the  Beanstalk,* 
if  you  remember  it,  Nettie,"  he  said. 

"  Should  you  really,  Jack?"  she  responded,  eagerly. 

Coverdale  drew  near  as  if  to  take  her  away,  but  Jack  shook 
..as  head  at  him,  and  Nettie  nestled  closer. 

44  Right  from  the  beginning,  mind,"  he  said,  feebly.  "  I 
tihink  the  beginning's  just  as  good  as  the  other  part,  don't 
yon?" 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  she  assented.     "  Well,  listen  then!"  and 
fihe  started  in  a  hushed  voice. 
_.  JPreientlv  he  fell  asleep.    She  stocDed  and  held  m>  her 


MJVE,  TKS  TTRA27T. 

finger  at  Ooverdale  and  the  doctor,  and  with  a  sigh  laid  her 
Vead  beside  his  and  slept  also.  No  one  had  the  heart  to  move 
ier,  and  the  two  slept  through  the  day. 

"  Surely  a  man  that  can  sleep  like  that  isn't  in  any  dan- 
ger!" said  Coverdale,  with  terrible  earnestness  and  eagerness; 
but  the  doctor  pursed  his  lips. 

"  Not  altogether  a  good  sign/*  he  said,  reluctantly.  "  The 
jiact  is,  he's  not  fighting!"  and  he  shook  his  head. 

It  was  dark  when  Jack  woke  and  looked  round.  A  shaded 
lamp  dimly  lit  the  room,  but  by  the  faint  light  he  saw  a  girl- 
ish figure  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  saw  a  beautiful  face  pale 
and  lined  with  anxiety  and  the  nameless  terror  of  death,  close 
to  his  own.  For  a  moment  he  thought  it  was  only  fancy, 
that  he  was  still  only  dreaming  of  her,  then  he  saw  her  lips 
move,  saw  the  lovely  eyes  close  and  open  again,  as  if  burning 
with  unshed  tears,  and  he  spoke  her  name: 

"  Esther!" 

*'  Yes,"  she  breathed,  in  so  low  a  voice  that  he  alone  could 
hear  it,  and  it  did  not  wake  the  sleeping  child.  "  It  is  1!" 

Her  breath  came  in  a  deep  heart-breaking  sigh,  and  she 
hid  her  face  for  a  second — a  second  only — in  the  bed-clotliss; 
then  she  looked  at  him  again;  the  look  a  woman's  face  wears 
when  she  knows  that  Heaven  itself  will  not  help  her  to  reveal 
the  love  with  which  her  heart  is  breaking. 

"  It's — it's  good  of  you  to  come!"  he  said.  "  I  suppose 
Coverdale  sent  for  you?  He's — he's  a  good  chap;  one  oi  the 
best,  Esther — you  won't  spoil  it  all  by  refusing  to  come  back? 
There's  no  reason  except  your  pride.  Forgive  me!  I've  got 
to  speak  plainly!  If  I'd  really  died  when  they  thought  I  did, 
you'd  have  been  mistress  here — and  it's  only  a  little  later, 
you  know.  And  there's  no  one  else  Esther,  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  that  you'll  come  back.  I  should  clear  for  the 
outward  journey  " — that  was  the  dock's  phrase — "  so  much 
quicker  and  easier — and  the  cargo's  heavy,  dearest!" 

She  put  out  her  hands  and  drew  the  nearest  of  his  to  her 
bosom,  still  looking  at  him  with  that  ineifable  light  in  her 
eyes. 

'*  I'll — I'll  promise  to  come  back— on  one  condition,"  she 
eaid,  with  a  breath  between  every  word. 

"  Condition?"  He  frowned  slightly.     "  What  is  it?" 

The  doctor's  words:  "  If  we  could  only  get  him  to  make  a 
fight  for  it,"  were  ringing  in  her  ears. 
'  That— that  you  stay,  too,  Jack!" 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way  for  a  moment,  then  a 

•ir-hl:  f.ashWi  into  his  CJCS. 


354  LOVE,  THE  TYRANT. 

"Lift — lift  me  up,"  he  said,  almost  commanded. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  and  put  her  arm  round  him, 
and,  helping  her,  he  rose  on  his  elbow,  and  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  hers,  said  brokenly : 

"You  mean  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it's  a  bargain !    Seal  it,  Esther !" 

She  understood,  and  bending  that  small,  proud  head  of 
hers,  she  kissed  him  on  the  lips ;  not  with  the  cold  kiss  of 
pity,  but  with  the  clinging  kiss  of  passionate  love  long 
pent  up,  but  overflowing  all  barriers  at  last. 


Nettie  woke,  and  rubbing  her  eyes,  saw  Esther,  looked 
from  her  to  Jack,  read  the  hope,  the  joy  in  his  face,  and 
with  a  cry  of  joy,  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  Jack,  you're  better !  You're  not  going  to  die !  I 
can  see  it  in  your  face.  Oh,  you  good,  dear  Jack !  I  was 
so  fitened,  so  dreffully  fitened!  And  so  was  Miss  Van- 
court,  for  look,  she's  crying!" 

He  smiled. 

"Oh,  you  see  she's  just  made  a  bad  bargain,  Nettie, 
and  she's  jolly  sorry  for  herself,"  he  said ;  and  there  was 
now  the  promise  of  life  in  his  voice  as  well  as  in  his 
eyes.  "Give  her  a  kiss,  Nettie,  to  cheer  her  up,  and  tell 
her  it's  too  late  now  to  back  out.  I'm  going  to  keep  her 
to  it!" 

******* 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Esther  did  not  repent  of  her  bar- 
gain; for  Jack  got  well  and  held  her  to  it;  and  she  is 
back  at  Vancourt  Towers — with  him.  If  Love  is  a  Ty- 
rant, his  tyranny  is  sometimes  very  sweet,  his  chains  of 
roses  and  his  scourge  a  kiss. 


A     000129276    2 


